The Struggle
by sherlockandjohnwatson
Summary: When Snape is sent to check on Harry and discovers years of hidden abuse, how will he react? What will happen when Harry and Snape are forced to get along? And why is Harry changing so suddenly? Some cutting and rape. Somewhat AU, summer before GoF.
1. Chapter 1

**The Struggle, Chapter 1. **

**Scenario: Harry has been abused at his aunt and uncle's house for some time before anyone at the school comes to take notice. When Dumbledore sends Severus Snape to check on Harry, how will he react when he discovers Harry's terrible past years? What other surprises will happen along the way when Snape and Harry are forced to bond more?**

**I'm not very familiar with the terms on here, but this takes place the summer before GoF, and is somewhat AU.**

**Please rate and review!**

Harry was awoken suddenly by the loud rapping of his cupboard door. He shot up, opened his eyes weakly and rubbed the sleep away from them. He could hear his uncle shouting already.

"Up! Potter! Up! I've got your list of chores drawn out!" Harry scrambled to his feet and pulled open the door to find his uncle, plump face as red as a tomato, with a long piece of paper in his hand.

"Petunia, Dudley, and I are going out. You are to complete this before we get back, or no food for two days! Do you hear me!" his uncle screamed loudly, despite being mere inches from Harry's face.

"Yes," Harry muttered. He hadn't slept well at all, his entire body was sore and it was difficult to find a comfortable position.

"Yes?" Harry could see his uncle's face swelling up even more. He recovered quickly with a, "Yes, _sir,_" but it wasn't nearly fast enough.

Vernon reached out and smacked the boy twice across the face. Harry gasped, but stood standing. This was nothing compared to what he'd received last night which left his body aching and bruised nearly everywhere. Vernon cleared his throat loudly.

"Now, you listen to me right now, boy. One of your _kind _wrote to us and said that a wiz—_teacher _from that bloody school is coming down to check on you. He will be dining with us at eight o'clock sharp. Understand?" Harry nodded calmly, although his stomach did back flips. Would Dumbledore be here? Maybe Hagrid? Would he have a chance to leave?

"I expect you to clean up that rat-nest on your hair the best that you can and wear something to cover your...marks," his uncle pointed lazily at some purple bruises on his forearms. Harry nodded slowly.

"We will be back at seven thirty, have dinner ready by then. You'll be allowed to eat with us, do not take advantage of that, boy, it will not be happening again," his uncle remarked at Harry's excited face, "Oh, I doubt I should tell you this, but if you **dare **say anything except positive things about your summer here, or give them anything to be suspicious about, you will regret it, boy! Understood?" his uncle shouted, huffing and puffing in front of him, worked up simply by talking for too long.

"Completely understood, sir," Harry replied, and waited until his uncle walked away to glance down at the paper in front of him. Feminine handwriting was scratched across the top, he immediately knew it as his aunts.

_Harry: there is chicken and green beans in the fridge. We will be home at seven thirty, have the following chores done by then, be reasonably cleaned (we will know if you use the shower, don't even think about it), and have dinner prepared.  
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Below was a list of seven or eight different chores his Aunt had assigned him, including cleaning and organizing Dudley's room, trimming the weeds and refreshing the garden, and as his aunt had written it, '_making the house look like a comfortable, lovely home'. _Harry snickered under his breath and walked into the kitchen, where Petunia was adjusting Dudley's shirt, already stained with cereal milk.

"Dudders, this is brand new, and already stained!" she scolded, her eyes flickering to Harry only for a moment while he reached across the table to pick up the family's empty bowls and cups.

"We'll be going now, Harry. I expect everything on that list to be done, no exceptions," his aunt hissed. Harry needed no further warning of the consequences, he simply nodded and washed the dishes, while he watched from the corner of his eye as the Dursley's left.

Harry sighed and looked out the window. The weather was absolutely perfect. There was not a cloud in the sky and only a light breeze, just enough to ruffle your hair. _If only I had my broom, I could prehaps ride for a bit, _Harry though to himself. What he would give to glide across the sky, swooping down inches from the ground, then back up, again and again...

Harry shook the thought from his head as he dried the final glass and placed it in the cabinet. He looked down at the list and scratched off dishes with a pen off the counter. _Only seven more to go, _Harry thought, _and then I can eat a full meal tonight. With a Professor! _He smiled widely and quickly got back to work.

–

Several miles from Hogwarts, or where Harry was diligently working, Severus Snape sat at home, stirring a potion in one of his many cauldrons. He was always alone for the summer holiday, so when Albus Dumbledore suddenly appeared in the fireplace across the room, it came as quite a shock, causing him to drop a handful of a brownish black weed.

"Hello, Severus!" Dumbledore said cheerfully, walking out of the fireplace as the flames resumed to a bright yellow with sparks of orange.

"Hello, Headmaster. What, may I ask, do you require of me? I'm quite a busy man," Severus replied slowly through gritted teeth. He wasn't really busy, but he quite preferred to have his Manor to himself over the summer, the only guests being house-elves and the occasional visit from his Godson, Draco.

"Can't I visit one of my friends to see how he is? Never the less, I do require your assistance today, Severus. But first, what are you brewing in that cauldron?" Dumbledore inquired, his eyes twinkling mysteriously at the bubbling liquid.

"It's a healing potion I've been working on, Sir. Especially good for deep scars. I've been tweaking it for a couple hours, I've almost got it, though," he replied, picking up the dry weed and sprinkling it slowly into the cauldron. He picked up a glass spoon and stirred it three and a half times counter clockwise. The color changed from a dark blue to a bright, sparkling yellow. Snape smirked.

Dumbledore sat down on a couch next to the fire place and settled his hands in his lap. "Severus, I require a favor," he said simply. Severus looked up, his eyes meeting Dumbledore's.

"What may that be, sir?" he replied, trying to keep his voice as monotone as possible. Severus was not interested in socializing, he wanted to get back to the potion and his solitude.

"Well, Severus, I've been worried about a certain student. Harry Potter, that is," Severus suddenly looked up more interested, his eye's widening ever so slightly. Snape and Harry never got along well, so he was always happy to see the young boy getting into some type of trouble.

"We haven't heard from Harry for nearly a week. All his letters prior to that were short. I have spoken with Arthur and Molly Weasley, who said Ron only received three letters from Harry since the start of summer, each one simply saying that he was fine and not to come looking for him," Dumbledore cleared his throat and then frowned a bit.

"Severus, did you notice anything...strange, last year? With Potter?" Snape thought back to the previous year, Harry's third year at Hogwarts. Harry was never a stellar student in his class, and he noticed his performance slipping quite a bit last year, but Snape knew that was just from Potter being Potter, thinking he was above everyone else.

"No, sir. He was just being Potter. Slacking up on work, missing classes, messing up potions, trying to sleep through vital lessons...like his father, sir," Severus sneered at the very thought of James Potter, one of his worst memories from Hogwarts.

"Would you say his performance in your class had worsened from prior years?" Dumbledore questioned, his eyes hinting at the slightest bit of concern. Severus reached across his potions table for a vial of something blue and thick, shrugging.

"He was never good, to say the least. Perhaps a tad worse last year, yes, I would say he was," he said coolly, pouring a quarter of the vial into his cauldron, which now smelt like gasoline and was giving off heat.

Dumbledore remained quiet for several minutes, watching the potions teacher stir in different liquids, break twigs, and finally empty the contents of the cauldron into several medium sized containers, sealing them with cork lids. "Severus, I'd like for you to check on the condition of Potter, this evening. I have alerted his aunt and uncle that a Professor will be joining them for dinner at eight o'clock, and because everyone I have other obligations this evening, I would like you to go," Dumbledore carefully looked up from his lap at Snape.

Snape snorted under his breath as he cleared the table using a swipe of his wand. "Me, Headmaster? Why not Hagrid? Or, that man you've decided to hire for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post...Mad-Eye?" Snape snapped back, his hands beginning to quiver with anger. The last thing he planned this summer was to have to go visit Potter during his holiday.

"Severus, I believe that it would be best if you went. I trust in you completely that you actually have the best intentions of Mr. Potter in mind and you will protect him, if something seems to be off at his relative's house," Dumbledore said, and then quickly stood up, moving towards the fire place.

"Number Four, Privet Drive, in Little Whinging. They will be expected you at eight o'clock. I request that you make sure the boy is safe, that is all. Do not depute me, Severus," Dumbledore said quickly as Severus opened his mouth to protest, "I would do this myself, but I have the serious task of finding a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Snape bit his inner lip and sneered at Dumbledore as he turned around and threw a handful of black Floo powder in the fireplace. "Just make sure he is safe. Talk to his Muggle family, talk to him, and report back. Good bye," he said cheerfully, his eyes still sparkling as the old man stepped into the fire and disappear.

Snape sighed deeply and pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no doubt that Potter was most likely his least favorite student, tying with almost all the Weasleys' and the Longbottom boy. He glided back into his bedroom, where he changed into the only set of Muggle clothes he had, plain blue jeans and a black t-shirt. Checking the clock, it was nearly seven fifteen already.

The tall man did what he could with his limp hair, parting it down the center and patting it flat, to look reasonably presentable to Harry's aunt and uncle. _The dinner will only take a short time. I will eat fast, exchange a few words with both Harry and his family, and then leave. The Potter boy, once again, getting extra attention just because he is the boy who lived. Probably pampered by his Muggle aunt and uncle, _Snape groaned at the thought.

Snape stepped into the fireplace and checked his watch. Seven thirty, he still had a half hour. "Privet Drive," he announced loudly after throwing down a handful of powder.

–

A loud clunk of the bird hitting the window awoke Harry with a startle. He opened his eyes and checked the time. Seven twenty. He cursed loudly and shot up. After he had finished all his chores, he had decided to put the chicken in the oven and rest his eyes, daydreaming of Quidditch and casting spells. Harry burst into a sprint at the kitchen, opening the oven and pulling out the chicken.

It wasn't completely burnt, but still mostly black on the outside. He scrapped away at the worst parts of it as fast as he could, then stuck the chicken back in the oven, turning it down, just enough to keep it warm. He checked the time. Nearly seven thirty. He still hadn't started on the green beans, and needed to wash up and change. Harry decided that covering the bruises and wiping the dried blood off his face was more important than a side dish.

He slid into a long sleeve shirt and old, ripped jeans. Everything fell loose on him, but he managed to keep his pants on with a belt, and the ends he had cut long ago. Harry dashed into the bathroom, remembering his aunt's warning about the shower. He opted for a sink wash, what he had been doing most summers since he had started at Hogwarts, for his uncle rarely let him shower.

Harry took an old towel and wet it down, wiping vigorously at the blood on his face from his uncle's beating last night. He cringed when looking at his hair. It was slightly greasy, lacking volume, and sticking limply to his head. He blamed it on the usual humidity and lack of proper shower. Harry dipped his head in the sink, rinsing it with water and scratching at this scalp to remove dead skin. When he came up, he shook his head like a dog until it wasn't dripping, and ran downstairs, three steps at a time. The clock read seven thirty, but the Dursley's were known to arrive several minutes late.

Until the front door open and his uncle stepped in, Harry worked quickly on the green beans, hoping that the smell and sounds of butter in a pan would conceal the scent of the burnt chicken.

"BOY! DID YOU DO YOUR CHORES?" his uncle screamed, slamming his eyes down on the kitchen table. Harry didn't dare turn around from the oven, adding salt and pepper to the nearly cooked green beans.

"Y-yes, sir. Just finishing the green beans, didn't want them to be cold for our guest," he replied softly, turning down the heat on the stove and finishing up the vegetable. He turned around to see Petunia, Dudley, and his uncle standing at the table. They were all wearing nice clothes, obviously to impress whichever Professor showed up.

"It's seven thirty five, he will be here in twenty five minutes. Set the table, Potter. Get the chicken out. Make sure to set two extra places, there will be five tonight," his uncle reminded him, a tad bit of anger in his voice already. Harry cringed, knowing what was coming.

Harry completed the table by putting the chicken out in the center. His uncle stopped and eyed it curiously. Harry cringed. _He knows, dammit, he knows. He can see the burnt spots. _Vernon took the carving knife and sliced a piece off the side, taking a bite out of it like an animal, no silverware, no manners.

His uncle swallowed it but glared at Harry. Before he knew it, a hard fist impacted his stomach roughly. Once, no, twice. Then again. Harry gasped for air and his knees buckled, falling down to the rough kitchen floor. "YOU BURNT THE DAMN CHICKEN! IT'S OVERCOOKED! CAN YOU NOT COOK A DAMN CHICKEN, YOU WORTHLESS BOY?" Vernon shouted, continuing to bombard Harry with insults whilst kicking and punching him hard.

After what seemed like a life time, but turned out to be only a few minutes, Vernon stopped and lifted Harry up by his shirt collar. Inspecting him, he had managed to miss the boy's visible skin; his face, neck, and hands. Harry was panting, his eyes watering, his entire body begging for relief. The pain would mull over, but not soon enough.

Vernon dropped Harry and stomped away, murmuring about what the boy would get after the 'wack-job' of a teacher showed up. After a couple minutes, Harry stood up and noted the time. Seven fifty. Only ten minutes, and then a Professor would be there to save him. He winced as he stumbled towards the bathroom. Petunia was standing right outside, looking carefully at him. He noted a small key of pity in her eye.

"There's dirt on your face. I've put out bandages and gauze, wrap up what you need to get through the dinner," she murmured, and then walked away. Harry stumbled in and pulled up his shirt. He choked on his appearance, then proceeded to lean over the toilet and vomit.

In several minutes, he emerged from the bathroom. He used a swish of mouthwash so his breath was presentable and some of Dudley's old cologne which he was permitted to use by his aunt. It didn't smell nice, but it was better than body odor. He had wrapped his arm in a few places, bandaged most of all his body to stop the bleeding, and suspected broken bones, maybe a few ribs as well. If Dumbledore arrived, he could say he was fighting and ask him to repair them, perhaps. Harry managed to keep all his injuries covered.

His aunt, uncle, and cousin were already sitting at the table. Dudley looked nervous, he didn't interact well with wizards. Vernon looked up, a vicious smile was already creeping across his face. "He, or she, should be here soon. Answer the door, enter them in, and smile. Welcome them. Introduce us. Sit beside Dudley. I will do the rest of the talking," Vernon barked loudly. At that moment, the door rang. 7:58, the Professor was early.

Harry limped down the hall as best he could, trying to look like he was well. His stomach hurt miserably, his legs were wobbly and weak, his arms ached, and the rest of his body was in a constant state of shaking and throbbing. He reached for the door handle and opened the door, a smile across his face, hoping to see Professor Dumbledore.

"Potter," the voice greeted him. Harry's smile vanished and he returned the sneer the Potion's teacher gave him.

**A/N: I've already got most of this story written, so just rate and review and I will release more! The story gets better, I swear! Should I shorten the chapters? Make them longer? Is this easy to read? Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The Struggle, Chapter 2**

**Please rate and review! Let me know what you think of it, predictions, criticism, anything at all! **

**A/N: Oh my gosh, you guys, thanks for the positive reviews! Please keep it up! I decided to re-write several chapters which set me back, but I'll try to update every 3-5 days. Thanks again!**

"_Potter," the voice greeted him. Harry's smile vanished and he returned the sneer the Potion's teacher gave him._

Snape stood at the doorway, glaring at one of his least favorite students. Harry glared back, evaluating Snape, before stepping aside and muttering, "Come in".

The Professor, Harry noticed, did not look quite as bad as he usually did. He was wearing Muggle clothes, not boring black robes. His face seemed to have a bit more color to it, and his hair wasn't nearly as greasy. Harry suddenly became embarrassed at his cousin's old attire.

Severus looked around the foyer of the house. He was surprised by the cleanliness of it. It was almost like a dollhouse in a glass cabinet, everything was placed a certain way, and nothing seemed to be touched. He noticed the absence of Harry in any of the photographs on the wall.

Next, he looked down at Potter. The boy was a disaster, he couldn't help but notice. His hair was significantly darker and greasier, lying almost flat against his head with frizzy pieces flying everywhere. He also was wearing clothes several sizes too big that had been lazily patched up. The bottom of his jeans were hacked off, leaving them torn and tattered.

Besides his clothes, he noticed the boy's other features. He was thin, even under the long sleeves and baggy jeans he could tell. His eyes were hallowed and nearly empty, Snape observed. The boy seemed emotionally drained, to which Severus smirked at the thought. _He probably is treated like royalty, _Severus thought, clearing his throat.

"Potter, I don't want to be here either, trust me. I will only be taking up a mere hour of your precious time, and then you can go back to your luxurious summer," Snape said coolly. Harry flinched slightly at the word 'luxurious', with a strong urge to lunge at Snape, or draw his wand from his back pocket, at least. He resisted.

"Fine, whatever. Dining room is straight down the hall," he snapped back, pointing down the hall into a light room where his relatives were already sitting, whispering under their breath. Snape glided down the hall in the same fashion he would in his dungeon. Harry followed behind, trying his best to conceal a limp.

Snape stepped in and tried his best not to sneer at the pathetic family. Vernon sat at the head of the table, his large thighs falling off the wooden chair. To his left was Petunia, who Snape cast a glance at that could kill. Much had happened between Petunia and Severus, and they hadn't reconciled for decades. To Petunia's left was Dudley, a striking image of his disgusting father. The right of the table was left for Harry and Severus.

Snape walked in and took the seat farthest from Vernon, leaving Harry the pleasure of sitting by his uncle. "Hello Vernon. Petunia. Dudley," Snape said, nodding at each of them. Dudley gasped, surprised the man knew his name.

"Welcome to our house, Severus," Petunia reluctantly said as Harry took his seat nearest his uncle, cradling his injured arm while hiding it from Snape the best he could.

"I promise I will only inconvenience your family for the shortest time possible. I am just here to ask Harry a few questions about his stay at your house, and check to make sure his environment is safe. After wards, I will leave, and the rest of your summer will remained undisturbed," Snape droned in a boring tone. Petunia nodded twice in acknowledgment, and Vernon began to distribute the food.

Several minutes into the meal, Snape had only sipped the tea in front of him, taking one bite out of the chicken and setting his silverware down. It was very overcooked, but the boy beside him didn't seem to mind. His uncle severed him reasonably less than Dudley, which Snape took notice to as well, but didn't really linger over. Harry ate the food much too fast, causing his stomach to flip at the excess of food. He wasn't used to being fed this much.

"Potter, how would you describe your experience at your aunts and uncles house this summer?" Snape asked, watching the boy's disgusting eating habits. Harry cleared his throat and began mumbling something.

"Potter, you will look at me when you speak, understood?" Snape hissed. At the head of the table, Vernon chuckled, helping himself to more chicken. Dudley watched in fear, eating more slowly than he ever had.

"Yes, sir," Harry looked up, his hatred for Snape growing. "Well, it's been quite good. I get fed, I do my chores, I get to watch the telly, it's all fine and well..." his voice carried off. Snape rose an eyebrow.

"And where do you sleep?"

"Oh, well, the guest room. It's quite nice," Harry blabbered a bit more about how it used to be Dudley's room and now he uses it during the summer, but Snape tuned him out. Harry's sleeve had rolled up while he was eating to reveal a purple-blue bruise on his wrist, as though someone grabbed him too hard. He frowned.

"Enough," Snape hissed, silencing the boy. "Roll up your sleeve, Potter." Harry looked up from his empty plate quickly, a look of terror in his eyes. Vernon clutched the table, and Petunia looked away. Harry didn't move. If he were to show Snape, his uncle would probably attack him, whose breathing could be heard loudly in Harry's ear.

"Potter, if you do not roll up your sleeve I will do it for you," Snape threatened, his hand flinching towards Harry, who recoiled backwards, nearly tumbling from his chair. Snape groaned quietly and waited until the boy rebalanced himself.

"If you can remain in your chair for a few short seconds now, Potter, I will request again for you to pull your sleeve up," Snape said slowly. He heard something like a growl and low gasp emerge from Vernon.

"What are you trying to get at, Sneverit?" Vernon growled. Snape didn't bother to correct his name, Petunia had probably told him it was that, along with many other terrible things about him. Instead, Snape simply reached across the table, held Harry's arm down, pulled out his wand, and flicked it at his forearm.

Harry turned away as he struggled against the man's firm hold, his sleeve sliding up past his elbow. There were several bruises down his arm, nothing quite like the rest of his body, but still, it wasn't a pretty sight. He felt Snape release him and clear his throat.

"Harry, is there something you wish to...tell me?" Snape inquired slowly. His voice seemed to have a hint of concern in it, but still the same level of annoyance.

Harry stood up and pushed his chair in, gathering up his plate and cup. From the corner of his eye, he saw his uncle breathing hard, turning redder by the second. Harry knew he was going to regret this later.

"No, sir, nothing at all," Harry replied, walking quickly over to the sink, limping on the way. He heard a chair screech, undoubtedly Snape's. The man approached him and stood beside him, his eyebrows raised.

"Nothing? Remove your shirt, Potter. No, I have no interest in seeing your weak torso," Snape added at Harry's look of shock, "this is simply...business."

Harry heard a fork slam on the table and saw his uncle stand up. "The boy will not remove his shirt! Are you attempting to accuse me, or my family, of something?" his uncle snarled, stepping towards Snape.

With a flick of his wand, Snape flung Vernon against the wall in an almost lazy manor, and then muttered "_Petrificus Totalus,"_ calmly, freezing his uncle in a shocked position against the wall. Snape turned back towards Harry, fire in his eyes. Petunia stood up, shrieking, and rushed to her husband's side.

"Remove your shirt, or I will do it for you," Snape said clearly. Harry, in a stunned fear, managed to reach down and pull his shirt over his head. Snape nearly gasped, but maintained his composure. Harry's entire chest was filled with cuts, bruises, gashes, scabs, and other deep scars. He was bleeding openly in several places, which were obviously new cuts.

Besides that, his collar bone and hip bones stuck out far too much for a boy of his age. His left arm featured many of the same bruises as his right, including finger-shaped purple marks at the wrist. Snape blinked twice and then turned, addressing Petunia who was shrieking curses at him, calling him a 'foul, evil freak' and 'a disgrace' and finally 'no one Lily chose James over you'.

"ENOUGH! You shut up or you will be a replica of your lousy husband, and I will leave you here to rot!" Snape shouted, his hands shaking. Harry slipped his shirt back on and stepped several paces back. 

"You have no evidence of anything, Severus," Petunia gasped, pointing at Harry. Snape snorted and lowered his eyes on her.

"As if this," Snape turned sharply, pointing to Harry's chest, "isn't enough!" He tore his eyes from Petunia and looked at Harry, his eyes large and his cheeks slightly red.

"Go to your room, gather your things, bring them downstairs. Meet my by the door, do not lolly-gag, I do not have time for this. Go!" Snape said loudly, turning back towards Petunia with his wand out.

Questions raced through Harry's mind, but he could barely concentrate as he limped from the room towards his cupboard under the stairs. _How come Snape seemed to know Petunia so well? Why did she make that comment about his mother and father? How did Snape instantly know about the abuse? Anyone else usually just believed Harry got into fights..._Harry opened his cupboard door and began throwing clothes off the floor into an open suitcase.

By the time he was done, the suitcase was still half empty. He only had a couple pairs of oversized pants and a few shirts in it, because everything related to Hogwarts was locked in his uncle's and aunt's room. All his books, robes, his brand new Firebolt, and any sweets he had purchased from Honeydukes were locked away in a trunk at the end of his uncle's bed.

Harry limped out of the cupboard, dragging his suitcase along. He shut the door behind him and turned to find Snape standing inches from him, looking more angry and annoyed than usual.

"Potter, why are your things in that cupboard?" he growled, tapping his foot. Harry could still hear the shrieks of his aunt from down the hall, shouting curses and insults at Snape left and right.

"Oh, uh, well, I didn't really...uh, I wasn't honest about...y'know, my sleeping arrangements. I sleep in, uh...yeah..." his voice trailed off and he looked down at his feet, trying to keep his breathing steady. He simply wanted to leave.

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He yanked Harry's suitcase from his hand, surprised at the light-weight of it. He lifted it up and down a few times, and looked at Harry again. "Are these all your things?"

Harry shook his head. "No, all my stuff from Hogwarts is in my uncle's room in a trunk at the end of the bed, he locks it up-" but before Harry could finish, Snape whipped out his wand and said clearly, "_Accio trunk!" _With a thud, the trunk clobbered down the stairs and landed at Harry's feet.

Snape flicked his wand twice, shrinking both the trunk and suitcase down to briefcase size. He thrust the shrunken trunk into Harry's arm, to which he fell back a few paces before regaining his balance. Snape smirked at how weak he was.

"Head into the house across the street. You will find a woman named Arabella Figg. I will be over shortly, I need to discuss something with your aunt and uncle. We will be traveling to Hogwarts via the Floo network, and taking you to the hospital wing for further evaluation. Go," he said shortly, and Harry limped out of the house.

Harry managed to make it over to the house across the street, although his leg had almost completely given out and his entire body was throbbing. His joints felt as though knives had impacted them multiple times. He knocked weakly on the door and leaned up against the house, panting tiredly. He was so confused, so tired, and so weak. More than anything he wanted to be in his Gryffindor dorm...

Suddenly, the door opened. Ms. Figg stood, eying Harry up and down. It had been nearly two years since he had seen her last. She used to babysit him when he was younger, or the Dursleys would dump him off at her house if they got tired of him being around.

"Snape said...he'll be over...just had to...can I come in?" Harry gasped, clutching his arm. He could now see that a deep gash somewhere near his elbow was bleeding, as the blood soaked through the light-weight cotton shirt.

"Of course, dear," replied Ms. Figg softly. She stepped aside and Harry stumbled in, eventually finding a chair to crash onto. Her house reeked of cabbage, as usual, but he didn't mind now. Merely seconds later, a very angry looking Snape appeared across the room. Harry was shocked as to how he appeared.

"Up, Potter, we'll be leaving," his demanded. Harry pulled himself to his feet, still clutching the shrunk trunk in his arm. He stumbled towards the fire place, feeling very dizzy and weak. He didn't know how he would get across the Floo network without passing out in the fire. Snape seemed to notice as well.

"Thank you, Arabella, for letting us use your fireplace, but it seems as though Mr. Potter is too weak to use it at this moment. We will Apparate instead," said Snape. Ms. Figg only nodded and walked out of the room, muttering something about his aunt and uncle he longed to hear.

"Potter, pay attention. You will simply take my arm and we will be at the castle. Do not let go, and do not pass out on me. This will be intense," Snape warned, thrusting his arm towards Harry.

"But, sir, what is 'apparate'?" Harry asked, hesitant to take the man's arm. Snape let out an irritated sigh. "It's simply a form of wizard transportation. Take my arm, now, we don't have all day," he said, obviously irritated. Harry reached out and grabbed his arm slowly.

Seconds later, after much twisting, turning, and being pulled, they both hit the ground nearly a quarter mile from Hogwarts, due to the lack of being able to Apparate inside school grounds. Snape stood tall, while Harry's knees buckled and he collapsed to the ground. On all fours, he turned his head away from Snape and vomited on the grass beside him.

"Potter, why must you always be such a pain? _Evanesco," _Snape said without emotion, flicking his wand at the pile of sick beside Harry, who was still on the ground, moaning. Snape waited patiently for a minute before gently poking the boy with his wand. He didn't really know what else to do.

"Potter, I need you to get up and we can take you to the Hospital Wing. You've lost quite a bit of blood, and we need to heal up the cuts and get a full evaluation of the damage done. It's about a quarter mile walk," Snape said, trying to force a bit of sympathy into his voice. With struggle, Harry forced himself to his feet and began walking, stumbling every few steps and gasping for air.

By the time they reached the front doors, Severus walking a few paces behind him, Harry was still limping dramatically. He was dizzy, thirsty, weak, and tired. Overall, though, he was surprisingly embarrassed. Not only had his least favorite professor seen him without a shirt, or vomiting, but he had seen him weak. Harry had spent three years putting on a show of being strong and arrogant around Snape, and it was slowly crumbling.

Snape reached from behind Harry and pulled the door open for him, giving him a slight nudge with his wand to go in. Harry stumbled inside and looked around. The Castle was dark and empty, most of the portraits were sleeping and no ghosts wandered the halls. It was quiet and peaceful.

They walked slowly in silence up the the Hospital wing. When they got there, Harry was immediately seized by Madam Pomfrey who dragged him roughly to the first bed, shoving him down on it and turning to lecture Snape. Someone had obviously informed her that Harry would be arriving. He suspected it was Dumbledore.

"You let him walk up here with no help? Did you think to conjure a wheelchair for the boy? Oh goodness," she sighed loudly and flicked a wand at Harry, who was suddenly without clothes except for his underpants. He scrambled for a blanket, but Madam Pomfrey held him down.

"Harry, I will need to fully examine your body in order to heal you and provide the right Potions. Severus, if you could please bring me some of your strongest potions for pain, I'm afraid Potter will need them..." her voice drifted off as she grabbed a clipboard, scribbling down where different cuts and bruises were across Harry's body.

Snape turned away from the nearly naked moaning boy, feeling a heavy lump in his throat. It was pity, yes, but also it had reminded him of his own childhood, several years ago. "_Locomotor trunk. Locomotor suitcase," _Snape said, flicking his wand twice, the trunk and suitcase lifting up and floating into the air. He glided away, wondering what would become of the Potter boy over the next several days.

**A/N: Hope you guys liked it! Please keep up the reviews! Next chapter will be out in 3-5 days depending on the reviews. Any predictions?**


	3. Chapter 3

**The Struggle, Chapter 3**

**Please remember to review! It means the world to me & I'll put out stories faster!**

**A/N: Just a shout out to everyone who has given a review so far, thank you so much! Once again, I'll publish a chapter every three to five days. I'm thinking of pairing Harry up with someone later (not Snape), what are you guys thinking? Or, who are you guys thinking of? **

_He glided away, wondering what would become of the Potter boy over the next several days._

It was around two in the morning, and Snape was sitting in his dungeon, rubbing the bridge of his nose and trying to focus on writing lesson plans for the upcoming year. He had sent Harry's trunks to the Headmaster's office, not quite sure what to do with them. After he dropped off three different colored potions to Poppy, who was still taking notes on various scars on the Harry's body, he sulked down to his dungeon to get some work done.

Unfortunately for Snape, it was hard to get any work done. His thoughts kept lingering back to Potter, and even three stories under where the Hospital wing was, he could occasionally hear screams from the boy up above. _Nightmares,_ he assumed, trying to get back to writing.

His mind drifted back to when he saw Harry's bruised chest, remembering all the scars and bruises. Snape cringed and absentmindedly traced a long scar that ran down his left hand, his mind continuing to wonder further and eventually delve into his own past...

–

Severus awoke with a startle several hours later, panting and sweating. He shook his head and looked at the clock across the room. Seven in the morning. Had he actually slept two hours? Either way, he was glad to be awake, his dreams weren't the most pleasant.

Severus knew he had to meet Potter and Dumbledore in the Hospital wing something this morning to figure out further plans for the boy's summer, as he would not be sent back to the Dursleys, and he could not stay at the castle for the rest of the time. Only Severus, Dumbledore, Poppy, and the regularly employed janitors were here. And Severus had plans of returning home later that day.

After a quick breakfast, Severus swiftly walked upstairs into the Hospital wing, where Harry was alone. He now had a blanket pulled over him and looked somewhat content. Severus conjured a chair beside the bed and picked up the chart on the dresser, reading what Poppy had written.

As he suspected, there was severe beatings across nearly his entire body. He had two broken ribs, a broken ankle, several fractured bones in his arm, and a variety of other sprained joints. Snape perused the page, seeing nothing he didn't suspect. He was, of course, shocked still. No one had suspected that any form of abuse would happen to The Boy Who Lived. Snape was about to put the paper down when his eyes stopped at the bottom of the page.

_Possible sexual abuse noted. _

He thrust the clipboard at the dresser and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. _Sexual abuse? What all had the boy gone through in the past year?_ Snape heard a groan from the bed next to him as the boy's eyes flickered open. Snape made eye contact with him for several seconds before looking away.

"What do you want?" Harry grumbled. Snape looked back at him and tapped his fingers against his thigh. Unable to think up a simple rude comeback, he sighed and settled for a more complex response.

"Potter, why, dare I ask, did you not tell someone about this? Are you too dim-witted to understand that what you have gone through his considered serious abuse? Did you not think to let anyone at the castle know about this? Or perhaps write it in a letter?" Harry let out a laugh and sat up, glaring at Snape.

"You think it's that easy? Just to walk up to any Professor and say 'Oh, yes, I'm being brutally abused by my aunt and uncle'? And, if you must be so nosy, they checked my outgoing mail before I sent it," Harry replied, his lips formed into a bit of a sneer. Snape recognized it as something he himself would do.

"Professor, if I would have told you, would you have believed me? The great Harry Potter, being abused? Or just seeking more attention? Oh ho, he hasn't been in the _Prophet _for a whole week, must just want another article!" Harry nearly shouted, mimicking Snape. The Professor stood up, withdrew his wand, and pointed it viciously at the boy's scar.

"_You will not address me in such a matter! _I am your teacher, even during summer! You could have told anyone, not just me!" Snape shouted, pressing his wand against the scar with a fair amount of pressure.

"You don't get it, you git!" Harry yelled, sitting up even further and reaching across the bed to grab his wand on the table, "You don't get it and you never will!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" Snape yelled, and Harry's wand flew across the room, crashing into Hedwig's cage, who hooted irritably.

"You are just like your father! Rude, arrogant, disrespectful, ignorant, useless!" Snape spat at the last word, pressing his wand harder against Harry's forehead and cupping his other hand around Harry's neck. He didn't do it very hard, just enough to get the point across. Harry froze and his eyes became dark and haunted.

"P-please...Prof-proffesor...don't...don't hurt me...please...I'm sorry...p-lease..." Harry begged, trying to swallow the ball in his throat to prevent further embarrassment. Snape's jaw dropped slightly as he removed his wand from Harry's head and pulled his hand from his throat as though he were touching fire.

Harry sat quietly as the Professor backed up a few inches, staring curiously at Harry. "I-I—didn't..." he started, his mouth open widely, but was interrupted by Professor Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey entering the room. Harry quickly looked down to wipe a few tears from his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked back up.

Dumbledore's eyes had the usual twinkle as he walked into the room, talking under his breath with Madam Pomfrey. He rose his head to meet Harry's eyes and smiled brightly.

"Hello, Harry. You are looking much better than yesterday," he remarked. Harry forced a small smile and then looked away. Dumbledore sat on the edge of his bed, grabbing the clipboard on the nightstand and surveying it quickly.

"Ah, yes, yes, oh?" he stopped at the bottom of the page and looked up at Severus and Madam Pomfrey, who was trying to get Harry to swallow several multicolored potions. Harry spat each one out and dry heaved for quite some time before Dumbledore tried to speak again.

"Harry, would you like to talk about anything?" Dumbledore asked, setting the clipboard back down and looking directly at Harry, who was now drinking a pink potion that tasted somewhat like cotton candy. He shook his head side to side and continued drinking.

"Alas, you will have to talk to us eventually, but perhaps now is not the time. Poppy, Severus, a word outside, please," Dumbledore stood up and glided out of the room, followed quickly by Snape and Madam Pomfrey. Harry closed his eyes and before he knew it, the pink potion was rushing through his body and he felt very, very tired...

–

Outside the room, Severus leaned against a wall as Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his temples. Madam Pomfrey was flipping through charts, looking up occasionally to see if Dumbledore was going to say something of importance. Eventually, the older man cleared his throat.

"Harry cannot stay at the castle this summer. He will either need to be found a replacement home immediately or go back to the Dursleys. I spoke with them this morning and they would be willing to take Harry back-" Dumbledore was cut off by a loud gasp from Snape.

"Sir, how can you even think to send the boy back to his aunt and uncle? Did you not see the same chart I did?" snarled Snape.

"I did, Severus. I spoke with the Ministry as well, they said that unless Harry is found a suitable, approved home by this evening, he will be sent back to the Dursleys until a home is found. We cannot keep students unattended in the Castle," Dumbledore reminded him slowly.

There was a looming silence as Snape wrapped his mind around everything. "Can Poppy not stay at the Castle and look after Potter? Or perhaps you?" Dumbledore offered a soft smile, but his eyes were full of sorrow.

"I have the job of preparing the castle for next year, and would not have the time to watch over the boy. Poppy, I believe you are leaving for a vacation to Germany tomorrow, am I correct?" Dumbledore asked. Madam Pomfrey nodded quickly, not looking up from her charts.

Dumbledore dismissed Madam Pomfrey back to the Hospital ward to further check on Harry. He and Severus stood across from each other, staring blankly into each others eyes. Severus could sense that Dumbledore had an idea brewing.

"Perhaps, Severus, Harry could spend the remainder of the summer at your property. Only a few weeks to recover, then we could find him a proper home for next summer. I know your Manor is equipped with a recovery room, which Potter desperately will need in order to fully repair his body," said Dumbledore. Severus twitched a bit.

"With all due respect, Potter and I do not get along, the mere idea of him living at the same house as I..." Severus's voice trailed off, but his mind stayed focus. As much as he knew Potter needed a place to recover, he did not like the boy much at all. Living with him, feeding him, and supporting him for several weeks during his holiday? Severus frowned at the idea of it.

"Is that a no? Severus, regarding your own past, you know how important it is to have a stable environment after traumatic events like this. Your can brew the proper potions, make sure he takes them on time, watch over him-"

"-You want me to waste my holiday playing a father in Potter's life?" Severus nearly shouted. "I have nothing in common with the boy! We are polar opposites!"

Dumbledore sighed and walked a few steps away from Severus, and then back, pacing slowly. "You have much, much more in common than you think, Severus. Do it for Lily," Dumbledore whispered. Snape drew his wand quickly and pointed it at Dumbledore.

"DO NOT BRING HER INTO THIS!" Dumbledore stood calmly. His eyes twinkled and he had almost no reaction to Snape's wand held inches from his face. "Severus, he has her eyes. Her innocent eyes. Do you not see her when you look at him?"

Severus's hand shook as he pulled the wand away, slipping it back into his pocket. "Of course I see her," his murmured. The corners of Dumbledore's lips curled upwards into a half-smile. "Will you, then?"

Severus pondered it for several moments. The idea of having Potter living in his house, eating his food, sleeping his one of his bedrooms, was painful enough. Then, he would have to observe Potter daily, prepare him potions, set bedtimes and punishments, and act as a father to the boy. This idea was even worse. The boy would probably wreck the house and not listen to a word he said anyway.

Then, Severus thought of Lily. He thought of her long hair, the way she smelt of roses and honey, the way her gums showed when she was laughing. He was her son, her flesh, her blood. He remembered the last time he saw her, the last time he held her, the last time they...he flashed his mind away from that memory, feelings that he preferred not to have building up in his stomach.

"Yes, sir. I will," Snape replied softly. Dumbledore nodded sympathetically and patted Severus on the shoulder before walking away. Right before he reached the end of the hall, he turned and looked back at Severus.

"Oh, Severus, I also assume you will be routinely talking to the boy and trying to get him to open up? His things will be sent to your home immediately. Good afternoon," Dumbledore walked away quickly before Snape could reject to the 'talking to the boy' part.

Severus sighed and leaned against the wall, rubbing the bridge of his nose. How was he supposed to care for a boy whom he despised? Whom every time he looked at, saw Lily? How was he supposed to look at him all day, for several weeks? Severus tried to clear his thoughts as he walked back into the Hospital ward, preparing to tell Harry about his new housing arrangements.

Harry lied on his bed, sleeping calmly. His hair was scattered across the pillow and his feet were hanging off the bed. Oddly enough, the boy seemed to have grown several inches over the short span of this summer. Snape rose his wand lazily and flicked it at Harry, who awoke with a startle, then glared at Snape.

"Couldn't possibly just poke me? Or even a shove?" Harry grumbled in a deep voice.

"It does not please me to pass along this information, Potter, but you will be released this evening and staying at my house for the remainder of the summer. After this summer, we will find you a more permanent place to live," Snape said calmly. Harry sat upright almost instantly and began yelling.

"YOUR HOUSE? WHY WOULD I WANT TO STAY WITH YOU? WRITE TO RON! WRITE TO HERMIONE!" he yelled furiously. Snape's eyes ignited with anger.

"Potter, do you think for one second I had a choice in this? Do you think I _want _you living at my house for the remainder of the summer? Do you think, for even one second, I will enjoy this? Get your stupid, empty head out of your arse and think before you speak!" Snape shouted back, gripping the end of his bed so hard that his knuckles turned paper white.

Harry sat back in defeat, folding his arms and staring Snape dead in the eye. He did not want to leave the Castle. The Castle was a place where he felt safe, not at his least favorite Professor's house. _Prefer to be at the Dursleys, then?_ He thought. Harry sighed.

"When we will be leaving, sir?" he murmured, not taking his eyes off Snape, who stared back painfully, cocking his head slightly to the side.

"Be dressed and ready by seven this evening," Snape replied, noting that Harry was still only wearing his boxers with a sheet pulled half way up his chest, revealing some of the deep scars that even magic could not take away.

Snape stared at Harry for a few seconds longer, taking in his eyes, before looking away quickly and beginning to walk away.

"Um, sir? I-I have no clothes," Harry called after him. Snape stopped and turned around, raising an eyebrow. "Well, you see, uh, Madam Pomfrey threw mine away, she said they were much too large and, well, pretty, uh...blood stained..." Harry whispered the last two words so quietly that Snape barely heard him.

Snape quickly turned around and pulled out his wand, flicked it once, and a pair of clothes appeared at the end of Harry's bed, folded neatly in a pile. He turned and looked at Harry again, who was studying his fingernail beds quite intensely.

"Thank you, sir," Harry murmured very quietly, not looking up to meet Snape's eyes. Snape left the room without another word, walking quickly down the hall, trying to keep his mind clear. _You just clothed the boy. How fatherly, Severus,_ a voice in the back of his head said sarcastically. Snape stormed into his office, slamming the door behind him.

–

Several hours later, Harry lied in nearly the same position, having only moved with Madam Pomfrey insisted on applying a healing salve to him. He had dumped the sleep potion in the trash, having too many thoughts to even think about sleep. Looking at the clock across the room, it was nearing seven o'clock, when he would leave to live with Snape for the rest of the summer.

Harry grimaced at the thought. Living with Snape? The man would probably not be much better than the Dursleys if you took away the beating. He would probably be assigned to studying potions all hours of the day, doing extra credit, just so Snape could sit around and insult him for a few extra weeks before school began.

At seven sharp, Snape glided into the room, to find Harry sitting at the edge of the bed. He was dressed, but didn't look much better than when they had arrived. His face was pale, his body was still weak, and when he arose to stand, he still had a limp and winced slightly at every step.

"When did you last take a potion for pain, Mr. Potter?" Snape asked nonchalantly, grabbing the clipboard off Harry's nightstand and reading Madam Pomfrey's dismissal summary. She had written out which potions to give him, at what times he was to take them, which lotions and healing salves he would need, where he would need to apply them, and at what times, along with a variety of other 'in case this happens' information.

"Uh, several hours ago, I think," Harry replied. Snape sighed.

"You were supposed to have one before we Apparate," Snape hissed back. Harry shuddered at the word Apparate, which was he new least favorite activity.

"Sorry, I don't think Madam Pomfrey brought me anything...," he said, not looking up at Snape, who simply stretched his arm out.

"I will give you something once we get there, Apparation seems to dull the effect of potions anyway. Take my arm," Snape said. Harry reached out and hesitantly took Snape's arm. Snape could feel the boy's hand shaking against him.

"On the count of three, yes?" Harry nodded feebly, still staring at the ground.

"Don't be so nervous, Potter, it will be over soon enough, ok?" Snape murmured, looking down where the boy was. Harry could hear concern in his voice, which made him shift awkwardly. He could only nod.

"One, two, three." On three, Harry felt a familiar pulling and twisting, his stomach doing back flips, and then they hit the ground. Snape absorbed the impact on the balls of his feet, while once again, Harry's knees buckled and hit the ground. Snape sighed in annoyance.

Harry tried to steady his breathing, his stomach still threatening to empty itself. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, staying there for about a minute before opening his eyes. He saw a hand reach down in front of him, and he took it, getting pulled back to his feet slowly. He released the hand quickly.

"Thanks," said Harry, blushing out of embarrassment and shock. He had Apparated twice now, and the thought of doing it again made his stomach flip. He tried to think of something else, which was easy, now that there was a huge mansion in front of him. Harry's jaw dropped a bit.

"Welcome," Snape said with a smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**The Struggle: Chapter 4**

**Please remember to review! I love to hear what you all have to say!**

**A/N: One of my reviewers last week mentioned that I made a mistake by Harry and Snape disapparating from inside Hogwarts. My bad! I am very sorry for this, just try to ignore it. Anyway, please read, enjoy, and review!**

"_Welcome," Snape said with a smirk._

Harry and Snape walked up to the large mahogany door. Snape took out his wand, tapped the doorknob twice, muttered an incarnation, and the door flew open. Inside, was something Harry never expected.

The mansion looked like a home. It gave him a vague reminder of The Weasley's house, except much larger and neater. It seemed as though it was decorated by a woman, because the feminine touch was something Harry did not expect from Snape.

They stood in the foyer silently. Snape let Harry look around with his eyes for several minutes. Harry was awestruck. There were beautiful paintings and tapestries hanging from each wall. Well placed tables held little nick-knacks that tied the rooms together. And in the main room, straight down the hall, Harry could see a brightly lit fire place, sparkling and cracking.

A house elf suddenly scampered past and stopped quickly, looking up in awe at Harry. Harry looked down at it, frowned, and offered a little wave. The house elf looked up at Snape with worry.

"Master Severus has brought a guest with him? No guests have walked through the main door in years!" said the house elf in a squeaky voice. Harry concealed a laugh. _Of course no one had, Snape probably just lived alone and brewed potions all day, _he thought with a smile. Snape shoo-ed the house elf.

"Potter, follow, I'll show you what you need to see of the house and direct you to where you'll be sleeping," said Snape in a monotone voice. Neither were excited, but Harry followed Snape slowly, observing the house.

"Kitchen, dining room, living room, my room, which is _off limits,_" Snape put emphasis on the last two words while continuing to point into rooms as they walked down a hall. Everything was well decorated, the theme of the house seemed to be Victorian themed. It was surprisingly well lit, unlike the dungeon Snape taught in.

As they passed Snape's room, Harry tried to peak in, but the door was half way closed. All he saw was that it was decorated and painted in a reds and golds, oddly like Gryffindor. Right before he pulled his eyes away he saw a moving picture on Snape's nightstand, beside the huge bed, but he couldn't make out who was in it.

"Your room, Draco's room, the bathroom, and the broom closet," Snape said, pointing to each one. Harry's room was at the end of the hall, and Draco's was on the left. Harry stopped and frowned at Snape.

"Draco? He stays here?" Harry asked, trying to crane his neck to see into Draco's room, which was painted dark green and quite dim.

"He is my Godson, so he often will come spend weekends with me, yes. Do you have a problem, Potter?" Snape suddenly snapped, noticing Harry's craning neck attempting to see into Draco's room.

"What? Oh, no, sorry," Harry murmured, turned around and clutching the handle on the door to his own room. From the clock on the wall, it was nearly eight o'clock and he hadn't eaten yet, but didn't want to pester Snape about it.

"I suggest while you stay here you mind your own business and stay out of trouble. You may go in any of the rooms on this floor, except Draco's, unless he visits and gives you permission, and my own room. The top floor is off limits," Snape warned. Harry nodded, processing the information.

"For the meantime, I suggest you settle in and get comfortable. There is a Muggle alarm beside your bed, which I do hope you know how to use. Meet me in the living room by eight o'clock tomorrow, we'll discuss rules and discipline while you stay here," said Snape. Harry simply nodded again.

"Your trunks are in your room," Snape finished, and with that, turned on his heel and walked down the hall. Harry felt his stomach growl, but the last thing he wanted to do was ask Snape for dinner. The man already seemed in an irritated mood that someone was intruding on his house.

Harry turned around and opened the door to his room, and stepped in. Surprisingly enough, it was not anything like what he could see of Draco's. The room was painted red with a gold trim, and it was very spacious. There was a bed, at least queen sized, with red sheets and fluffy pillows with gold pillow cases. Beside it was a nightstand, the same dark mahogany color as the front door, with only an alarm clock.

On the right side of the room, opposite the bed and dresser, was a large wardrobe and a full length mirror propped up against the wall. The only other furniture in the room was a desk and wooden chair, and Harry's trunks sitting at the end of the bed, along with Hedwig and her cage, who clicked her beak happily.

"Hey girl," Harry whispered, picking up her cage and setting it on the desk. She nibbled his finger and then clicked at the lock on her door.

"Want to fly, eh? Alright, I don't think Snape will mind," he murmured, unlatching the cage. Hedwig waited until Harry opened the window above his bed, and then happily flew out into the dim evening sky. Harry smiled and collapsed against his bed. _No, Harry, the bed. You're in the room. None of this is actually yours, _he tried to remind himself.

He closed his eyes and sighed, trying to get his mind off everything. He almost wished the bed and the room was his. It reminded him so much of Gryffindor. Why did Snape decorate his house in a Gryffindor style? It was so well lit and cheery. He expected something much more like what he saw of Draco's room, very dim and painted dark green.

Another suspicion rose in his head. Who was in the picture on the nightstand of Snape's room? He thought hard, and recognized that there were certainly people in it, two or three, he couldn't remember. Who they were, Harry was clueless about. Who would Snape keep a picture of on his nightstand? As far as he could judge, Snape lived alone and had no visitors. Who was worthy enough of a picture, but not visitation?

And what was upstairs that he didn't want Harry to see? Harry couldn't think of anything so bad that Snape would have to hide an entire story of a house from him. He sighed and grabbed the blanket from under him, twisting it over his tired body.

Harry's mind drifted around thoughtlessly before he began slipping into a deep trance. The last thing he heard before falling asleep was Hedwig landing on the window ledge and flying back towards her cage.

–

Snape sat in front of the fireplace, holding a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand, sipping it occasionally. He watched the fire burn, his mind wandering else where. He set the half empty glass on the ground and leaned back, observing the house.

Severus sat still for several minutes, thinking about what rules to establish in the house, when he heard a muffled scream. Severus stood up quickly from his chair, looking around. The house was silent for another minute before he heard the scream again.

Severus quickly glided down the hall, thinking to have heard the scream from the back of the house. _Potter,_ he thought, groaning. _Probably tried to climb out the window, ungrateful little idiot. _

The scream started up again, this time louder and longer, along with some painful moaning. Severus rose his eyebrow and stepped towards Harry's room, pressing an ear against it. The moaning was loud, and did not seem to be a pleasurable sound. He heard another scream and quickly opened the door.

Potter was lying on his bed, thrashing back and forth. He seemed to be asleep, but Severus couldn't tell, his head was buried deep in his pillow. He took a step forward, and Harry screamed again.

"STOP! DON'T!" he shouting. Severus observed him for several more seconds. Potter's entire body was shaking, and he could hear his heavy breathing. Carefully, Severus got down on his knees beside the bed and grabbed Potter's arm. He tried to lash out of his grip, screaming even louder.

"NO! DON'T! PLEASE DON'T!" Potter shouted, his legs kicking wildly. Severus sighed, standing up, and took both of Potter's arms, flipping him over firmly and shaking him very hard twice.

"Potter, wake up, it's me, wake up," he hissed, shaking the boy's arms a couple more times. Harry opened his eyes and sat straight up, pushing Severus off impulsively.

"Stop! Don't! I—oh," Harry lowered his voice drastically when he saw that only Snape was beside his bed, who had both hands in the air, looking quite innocent.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?" Harry asked quietly, lowering his eyes and fidgeting with the blanket. He was nearly drenched in a cold sweat, still shaking from his nightmare. He could feel the heat spreading into his cheeks. He hated Snape seeing him weak.

"No, I was awake," Snape replied calmly, stepping towards Harry very slowly. Harry looked up, eying Snape curiously.

"You can leave, I'm fine now," Harry replied, with a little more annoyance in his voice that he had originally planned. Snape restrained from snapping back at him, as he felt a surge of sympathy running through his body.

"I think we should discuss what you were dreaming, Potter. Recovery is not only physical, but mental as well," explained Snape.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry said in a very shaky voice.

"You don't have to tell me everything or go into specific details, Potter."

Harry sighed deeply, trying to calm down. "I was just remembering a time at my aunt and uncle's, that's all," he said, trying to look convincing. Snape rose an eyebrow.

"Elaborate, Potter. You were screaming for someone to stop," Snape said slowly.

Harry struggled to think back to the dream. He remembered it in vague details, and tried to piece them together carefully. He buried his face in his hands, trying to think. He suddenly remembered the dream entirely. The memory, one of his worst, rushed back like it was only yesterday.

"_Boy! Did you clean the bathroom?" his uncle screeched. It was the beginning of the summer, and the abuse had only just started back up. Harry was washing dishes in the sink, and his uncle was in the living room, as he remembered._

"_No, sir, not yet, I will as soon as I am done, though," Harry replied quickly. He only had three dishes left, but his uncle stood up and stormed into the kitchen anyway._

"_I told you, you stupid, useless boy, the bathroom should have been cleaned before dinner!" his uncle yelled, grabbing a plate from the sink and throwing it at a wall. Harry jumped back several feet, dropping a plate himself._

_His uncle screamed with fury, grabbing Harry by the collar and lifting him. He carried him by his collar to the stairs leading to the basement, and roughly dropped him. Harry tumbled down five or six stairs before regaining his balance._

_He scrambled down the rest as his uncle came after him. Harry's arm throbbed and he suspected his ankle was probably broken, or at least fractured. _

"_Get back here!" his uncle screamed as Harry tried to navigate around the mess in the basement. His uncle grabbed him roughly and shoved him against a wall, dropping him, and holding him down with his foot. Harry squirmed helplessly._

"_You little shit! You know what happens when you don't do what I say? You get punished! Get me the broom!" his uncle shouted. Harry crawled away from under his uncle's foot to the other side of the basement, grabbing the old broom. He crawled back, dragging the broom behind him._

"_Get up, get up!" his uncle demanded. Harry stood, shaking, his leg ready to give out any second. His uncle grabbed the broom and held it under his arm. _

"_Undress! You little shit, faster!" Harry quickly took off his old shirt and jeans until he remained in just his boxers. He saw his the corners of his uncle's mouth turn up in an evil, deceiving way._

"_I said undress. I mean everything," his uncle said very quietly. Nervously, Harry shuffled out of his boxers, standing completely nude. He was shaking, extremely cold and extremely nervous. He felt his uncle grab his shoulders and turn him around. _

_No, no, he wouldn't, that's terrible, he couldn't...Harry's mind trailed off as he felt the solid wood from the broom come in contact with his arse several times, smacking him hard. Harry cried out in pain each time, his sweaty hands sliding down the wall._

"_You like that, huh, you little queer? You want something more? Yeah, I'll give you something more," his uncle hissed. Harry shook his head, slowly crying. He hated his uncle. He hated this. He wanted to curl up and die. He felt the broom move down his arse, and slowly..._

Harry pulled himself from the memory before he cared to relive another moment of it. He couldn't help but choke out a sob as tears started flowing down his face. Snape sat on the side of the bed, watching Harry. He didn't know how to comfort the boy.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Snape asked carefully. Harry pulled his head from his hands and wiped his eyes, turning bright red and not making eye contact with Snape.

"It was just another b-beating, he just b-beat me with the b-broom," Harry replied. He didn't want to say anything about the sexual abuse. As far as he knew, no one knew about that, and no one had to.

"Just another beating? Potter, I hope you realize your uncle beating you is far from normal," Snape quickly said, frowning. Harry didn't look up from his lap.

"I need you to be honest with me, Potter, or this will be getting his no where. Tell me what happened," Snape quietly said, resting his hand on Harry's knee in a comforting way. Harry flinched and drew back quickly. Snape took the hint.

"I had forgotten to clean the bathroom before dinner, I was going to right after, but my uncle...he wanted it done before. So he...well, he threw me down the stairs and hit me with the broom a few times. And...well, that's it. Yeah, that's it," Harry said, his voice shaking. Snape nodded, but could sense that Potter was not telling the entire truth.

"Is that all he did?" Snape asked. Harry began nodding, and then slowly shook his head. He broke out into hysterical sobs.

"N-no," he cried, still staring into his lap. There was no reason for him to spill all of this to Snape, but he needed to get it out to someone.

"Harry," Snape started, flinching a little at using Harry's actual name, "you don't _have _to tell me anything. I would like if you did, and it would help to get it out."

Harry nodded, trying to calm down his sobbing. He felt Snape's hand on his knee cap again and did his best not to flinch away.

"He did other things with the broom," Harry finally muttered after a few minutes. Snape understood immediately. The room became painfully silent. Snape nodded a couple times and then stood up.

"I am going to bring you a Dreamless Sleep potion. Drink a small sip, it will be more than enough. We can talk in the morning, you look painfully tired," Snape said. Harry nodded, no longer crying, but did not look up. Snape left the room and returned in several minutes, handing Harry a flask with something yellow in it.

Harry took a long sip, the liquid warming his throat and body. He sunk down into the blankets, covering everything but his head. He no longer cared what Snape thought of him or how weak he looked. He didn't care about anything.

Snape took the flask back and set it on the dresser. He checked the alarm clock, which was unsurprisingly not set. He didn't bother to set it, simply turning off the lights with a quick "_Nox"_ as he left the room.

Snape glided into his own room, settling down on the bed and staring at the ceiling. He no longer felt the same level of hatred towards Potter as he did the previous year. He did not like the boy, but he did not hate him.

He turned towards his nightstand and stared at the picture. He smiled sadly and touched it. It was a beautiful woman with long, reddish brown hair, with her arms tightly wrapped around a man's waist. The man was tall, pale, very scrawny, and had wild black hair. They were standing beside the Big Ben, laughing. She stood on her tip toes and kissed the man's cheek. He turned pink instantly and smiled like a fool. He leaned down and kissed her on the lips. She blushed a little as well, and kept laughing. Snape only looked away when he heard an owl hoot.

A brown owl sat on the ledge of the window, a letter in it's mouth. The owl flew over to Snape, dropping the letter on his lap, and then flew away quickly. Snape picked up the letter with curiousity and looked at it. In the center, it read _Severus Snape _in cursive, swirly letters. Snape traced each letter with his shaking finger. It was Lily's handwriting.

**A/N: Ok, hope you guys enjoyed! Please review! Also, for anyone wondering, I haven't yet decided who I will pair Harry with, but I can guarantee it will not be Ginny or Cho. Any other ideas as to who you would like? It **_**might **_**involve some smut in later chapters, but more than likely just some sweet romance :) REVIEW! **


	5. Chapter 5

**The Struggle: Chapter 5**

**PLEASE read and review! The more reviews, the faster I will put out chapters for you guys!**

**A/N: Hope you guys like this! I think I have an idea who I want to pair Harry with, but I'm not quite sure. I'm really torn between Draco and Harry or Luna and Harry. Any ideas? Thanks! Review review review!**

_Snape traced each letter with his shaking finger. It was Lily's handwriting._

The letter was sealed in a crisp, white envelope. Snape ran his fingers over the sharp corners, trembling. When he flipped it over, it was sealed with one small piece of tape. He reached into his nightstand drawer and pulled out a letter opener, slowly gliding it under the tape until the top flap of the letter became undone.

"Lily," Snape murmured mindlessly. He took out the piece of paper from inside and held it carefully. It was folded into precisely into thirds. _Always the perfectionist. _Snape didn't want to open it. He set the empty envelope beside him carefully and began unfolding the letter.

He nearly choked when it was fully opened. A full page of Lily's handwriting in permanent black ink, not even slightly faded. Small, perfect handwriting, with 'g's that had large loops on the bottom and 't's crossed with a squiggle instead of a straight line. And, of course, every single 'I' on the paper was topped with a small heart.

Snape looked down at the date. It was dated in 1982, the same year Lily and James had been killed by Lord Voldemort. He tried not to let the memories flash back, but they painfully did. Through blurry eyes, Snape began reading the letter. At the first line, a tear danced down his face.

_Dear Severus,_

_I know you are probably not expecting this letter, and I do hope it never needs to be delivered. The war is growing upon us, and I fear attack of James and myself. I have a growing suspicion that I will not see you again. I pray my suspicion is wrong._

_I love you, Severus. I know we had our rough times the past two years, but I will always love you. I have always loved you. You were always there for me, even in the terrible times, and I do hope you can forgive me. I have forgiven you._

_This letter is mainly concerning Harry. I wish to be able to tell you in person, but given the situation, a letter will only suffice. He is yours, Severus. I have placed an Appearance Charm on him until the summer before his fourth year to protect him, then he will change. This is also to protect you, Severus. I hope if and when this letter arrives, you no longer have any contact with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named._

_He is a striking image of you, Severus. My eyes, though. Your hair and cheeks. I see you in him every day. It's painful. Please, take care of him. I know this is shocking to you and I do not know how your relationship has developed with him. _

_I have not charmed a letter to be sent to Harry. I fully trust you will pass along this information._

_I miss you every day Severus. I miss you so much. Every day I see Harry and want to cry. I fear my time may be up soon, so please, care for my child. Our child. Your son. I love you, and I forever will. Always._

_Love,  
>Lily.<em>

Snape reread the letter ten times silently, running his finger over the ink. Tears rolled slowly down his face, staining the edge of the paper. He didn't want to believe the paper, thinking it was merely a sick joke from Potter. But her handwriting was undeniable. He had seen her write for over a decade, and knew each letter by heart.

Snape put the paper down and sunk his head into his hands, weeping silently. So many thoughts ran through his head and he couldn't focus on one at a time. _Lily still loved him? She still thought about him after the fall-out? Harry was his child? _Severus hiccuped and inhaled deeply, wanting to punch himself. He had made a terrible mistake to let Lily go, but thought it was right. Only now he was discovering that he was wrong.

Severus's put the letter on his nightstand carefully, making sure to fold it perfectly and slip it back into the envelope. He closed his eyes, still crying softly. _Weak, Severus, so weak, _a voice in the back of his mind taunted. He closed it out with another sob.

_Out of every person in this world, I fell for Lily. And out of every child in this school, hers—ours- happened to be Potter, _Severus thought silently. He closed his eyes tighter, reaching for his wand in his pocket.

"_Nox," _he muttered, and then rolled against his pillow, drifting away.

–

Harry awoke with a startle the next morning. He heard pots and pans from down the hall. Turning over, he grabbed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, trying to read the alarm clock.

10:00.

"Shit!" shouted Harry, jumping out of the bed and scrambling to the door. He dashed down the hall into the bathroom, closing the door behind him and splashing water on his face. He looked in the mirror and sighed. His hair was growing longer every day, flatter, and become more greasy at the roots. He ruffled it with his fingers and opened the door, rushing out and back into his bedroom.

In five minutes, he had changed into a pair of Dudley's old jeans, held up by a belt, and an old, mostly torn up shirt. Harry scampered out of the room and down the hall, turning abruptly into the kitchen, where Snape was standing over the stove.

He looked completely exhausted, like a part of him was missing. He had deep bags under his eyes, which were half closed. Harry wondered when the Professor himself had woken up.

"I'm sorry, sir, I forgot to set the alarm, really sorry," Harry muttered, leaning against the wall, panting slightly. Snape looked up and merely yawned.

"I figured you needed some sleep anyways, after last nights _incident_," Harry looked down at his feet nervously, cheeks turning bright pink. Snape made a sound of annoyance and pulled out his wand, flicking it twice at the oven. Suddenly, eggs were cracking over a pan, toast was popping out of the toaster, and the delicious scent of crackling bacon filled the air. Harry nearly drooled.

"Try to use damn Muggle appliances over the summer, but it's just too slow..." Snape murmured, and then looked back at Harry. "Sit."

Harry sat down at the small, wooden table. It was circular, with only three wooden chairs surrounding it in a semi-circle. In the center of the table was an empty picture frame, with only a piece of old parchment inside. Harry eyed it curiously, but then a plate of food was shoved in front of him.

"You will be eating four meals a day under my supervision in order to gain enough weight for a boy your age. One when you wake up, lunch, supper, and something before you go to bed. Now eat," Snape demanded, setting a fork and knife beside Harry, who did not hesitate to dive in, his stomach growling furiously.

The room remained quiet for several minutes, except for the occasional slurp of orange juice from Harry or clink of a fork against the plate. Snape cleaned up the pots and pans quickly, skipping straight over Muggle methods and using some advanced spells to quickly polish the kitchen utensils.

Harry finished the last of the food, setting his fork down and looking up. Snape was smirking at him.

"I believe you may have set a world record for speed eating there_, _Potter," Snape sneered at him, waving his hand toward the plate. It levitated up and towards the sink, joining the other plates in the process of being cleaned. Harry turned slightly pink and began getting up from his seat. Snape pointed at the chair.

"Sit. We have to discuss the circumstances under which you will be living under for the next several weeks. There will be rules and punishment. Sit," Snape warned in a slightly more harsh tone as Harry rolled his eyes. _Always like his father, arrogant and-_ Snape stopped his thought short and inhaled quickly. _His father. You. _

He wrestled to maintain his composure as he sat across from Harry, folding his arms and eying the boy curiously. His hair was lacking as much volume as it had in previous years and was now jet black and straight. He also had more prominent cheek bones, Snape noticed. But deep green eyes. Always her eyes.

Snape cleared his throat. "Right, well, I do strongly hope you decide to behave yourself. What goes at Hogwarts goes here. I expect you to be up by eight, ready for breakfast at eight fifteen. In bed by ten, lights out at ten thirty. If I find you up, roaming, as I did _so_ many times at Hogwarts," Snape hissed, lowering his eyes, "you will be subjected to punishment as I deem necessary."

Harry shrugged and nodded, sipping the half-empty glass of orange juice in front of him. Snape continued talking.

"Punishment is a rough area, of course. I think that cleaning cauldrons and extra Potions work will suffice. I do hope you stay out of trouble, though, to make it easier on the both of us," said Snape. He flicked his hand at the cup as soon as Harry was finished. It flew over to the sink and clinked with the other plates.

"One hour of Potions practice a day, I believe, will help raise your atrocious grades. You will review other courses for an hour a day as well. Two hours total, understand?" Harry nodded, trying to hold back the urge to shout at Snape. Potions was never, and would never, be his strongest suit.

"Any questions?" Snape asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry thought for a second, and then his eyes lit up. He cleared his throat and stood up, meeting Snape's glare with his own. He was nearly as tall as the Professor. Snape noticed this as well.

"Why, Professor Snape, is your house decorated in such a Gryffindor manner?" Harry said nervously. He meant for it to come out with confidence, but his voice trembled slightly and dropped out on the last word.

"That, Mr. Potter, is none of your business at all," Snape snapped back instantly, a little fire burning under his eyes._ Ouch, hit a hot spot, _Harry thought silently, laughing to himself. He still did wonder about the decorations of the house. It was so...un-Slytherin like.

"I'll be going out to run some errands in Diagon Alley today. You can either stay here and adjust to your new...surroundings, or you may come with me. It's up to you," Snape said, tapping his fingers impatiently against his thigh. Harry thought for a second, then had an idea.

"I'll stay, Professor. I think I want to move in a little bit," Harry said in his most convincing innocent tone. Snape seemed to buy it, shrugging and walking out of the room. Harry followed him unconsciously.

"I'll only be gone a few hours. Do not, I repeat, _do not, _touch what isn't yours, go into my room, or go upstairs. I will know," Snape warned. Harry nodded blankly, not taking much of what Snape said into consideration. The man stepped into the fireplace, loudly said, "Diagon Alley," and vanished.

–

About an hour had passed since Snape left. Harry was gleefully sitting in his room, writing letters to his friends. Each one said almost the same thing, that he was staying elsewhere over the summer (he hadn't specified where), and that he could not wait to see them. With each one he attached a chocolate that had been locked up in his trunk most of the summer. They seemed to be in fine condition.

After attaching the letters to Hedwig's leg and lifting her out the window, Harry wandered out of the room and down the hall. The house was quiet and eerie, the only noise being an occasional tick of the clock. He quietly shuffled down the hall, looking curiously at the walls. There were several picture frames, all of them with a blank sheet of yellow-tinted parchment in them. Harry frowned. _Why hang picture frames without pictures?_

He continued down the hall, stopping at a closet. He opened it with a quick '_Alohomora' _and peeked inside. Nothing but old, dusty coats and a couple umbrellas. Harry frowned. Umbrellas were objects of Muggle creation, why did Snape need one when you could easily cast a charm to cover yourself?

He further dug into the closet. There was nothing more of much interest, a few scarves, some more dusty, empty photo frames, and several spare quills. Harry reached the back of the closet and frowned. Folded into a perfect, neat square was a dark gray cardigan. The collar had gold and red stripes around it. Harry picked it up and neatly unfolded it.

It was very old, with fraying around the bottom and the buttons nearly falling off. The jacket was far too small to fit Harry, who wondered why Snape had a Gryffindor cardigan and why he wore won. Harry touched one of the buttons and inhaled quickly. The buttons were up the left side.

Harry quickly refolded the cardigan and buried it under some old scarves, stepping out of the closet. _Why the hell did Snape have a woman's Gryffindor cardigan? _Harry shuddered at the thought of _any _woman leaving such a thing at Snape's house. He shuddered again at the thought of any woman being romantically involved with Snape, even during his teen years.

His mind froze as he remembered the photo frame on Snape's night stand, the only frame with an actual picture in it. _Was there a woman in that photo? _Harry was suddenly very curious about who the Professor had been romantically involved with. He ventured towards Snape's room quickly, gripping the door handle without thinking.

A burning sensation spread across his palm and engulfed his hand. Harry yelped, pulling his hand away and staring at the door knob. It was suddenly red and steaming, radiating heat. Harry looked down at his hand. He managed to pull away in time to prevent burns, but it was red hot and throbbing.

"Dammit," Harry murmured, closing his eyes and trying to think straight. He pulled out his wand and muttered "_Alohomora," _at the door knob with no avail. Snape put a heavy charm on the door making it unable for Harry to open without singeing his hand. _If only Hermione was here, she probably knows countless charms to remove it, _Harry thought sadly.

_Why do you care so much about Snape's life anyways? Its not yours, what does it matter? _Harry frowned, acknowledging the voice in his head. It was telling the truth. Why _did _he suddenly care so much? It was like an itch in the back of his throat, stinging, telling him he had to find out. Harry didn't know why, but the urge was overwhelming.

Harry suddenly thought of something. He pointed his wand directly at the door knob and loudly announced, "_Aguamenti!" _A burst of cold water rushed from the tip of his wand, soaking the door knob, the floor, and the door. Wasting no time, Harry reached down and twisted the door knob open. It was warm, but no longer singed his hand. After the door creaked open, he pulled his wand away, stopping the spell.

Harry turned and looked at the mess behind him. The floor was soggy and the door was drenched with cold water. Everything within two feet had been sprayed by the back-splash of water against the door, including Harry.

"Er, _Evanesco!" _Harry stuttered, waving his wand at the water. It surprisingly dried away, leaving Snape's possessions all carefully in tact. Harry stared around the hall, checking to make sure everything was dry and no evidence was left behind. It seemed to be fine, so he ventured into Snape's room.

The room, like the rest of the house, was decorated with Gryffindor red and gold. It was warm and smelt oddly like flowers. He saw a crystal vase on the window seal with four or five blooming white flowers. The center had the slightest bit of yellow in it, but the petals, all six of them, were paper white. Harry snorted. _Snape keeps flowers in his room? _He struggled to identify what type of flower they were, but barely remembered the brief lesson on flowers in Herbology.

He lurked around the room, checking the door every few seconds. The room was very nice and warm, much unlike what he expected. The bed was made perfectly and everything was organized, nothing out of place. From across the room, Harry was observing a book shelf, when his eyes flickered away. He remembered what he was here for. Turning quickly, he strode over to Snape's bed and picked up the photo frame from behind, not yet looking at the picture.

He braced himself for the worst and turned the picture around. At first, all he saw was a younger man, possibly in his early twenties, with greasy black hair. He was tall and lanky, awkwardly smiling at whomever was taking the photo. He was standing beside the Big Ben, wearing worn-down Muggle clothes. Harry identified the man as a younger Snape. He frowned. _That's it? Snape keeps a picture of himself on his nightstand? _Harry put the photo down roughly and looked away, intending to leave, when it caught the corner of his eye.

A woman, young as the man in the photo, suddenly walked in and wrapped her arms around the man's slender waist. Harry turned around and grasped the frame, his eyes going wide. The woman was petite, much shorter than the young Snape, wearing...wearing the same Gryffindor cardigan he had spotted earlier in the closet. Harry watched the photograph avidly.

The woman stood on her tip toes, long, wavy hair flowing behind her, and kissed Snape on the cheek. Harry inhaled and made a face of disgust at the photo. _What kind of desperate woman would kiss Snape? _He watched as the younger Snape blushed, and then leaned down to kiss the woman, all while laughing and holding each other tightly. The woman turned a light pink, her reddish curls still bouncing behind her.

_She looks so familiar. Long, red, wavy hair. Freckles. Small, petite. Deep green eyes. _Harry stared at the eyes of the woman, reminding him much of his own eyes. She looked directly at the camera, winked, and leaned her head against Snape's shoulder, who kissed her hair. They seemed genuinely in love.

Everything suddenly clicked.

Harry dropped the frame on the nightstand harshly, scrambling away from it, his wand pulled out as though it would attack him. His hand was shaking harshly and his breathing was laboured. Wavy red hair. Freckles. Thin. Short. Green eyes. The same green eyes he saw when he looked in the mirror. The same green eyes he was reminded of daily.

_You have your mother's eyes._

Harry stumbled backwards, gasping for air, his wand still pointed out. _No, no, something is wrong, it's obviously a mistake, another woman who just looks like her. _Harry took another step back when two firm hands grabbed his shoulder, spinning him around.

"Going somewhere, Potter?"

**A/N: Review, review, review, my darlings! More to come soon! Oh, and yes, I am aware Harry used magic outside of Hogwarts, but this is AU, and given the circumstances, I think he would be permitted, after what he endured :) So PLEASE review and tell me what you think! **


	6. Chapter 6

**The Struggle: Chapter 6**

**Please review, review, and review some more!**

**A/N: Sorry this took quite awhile, I'm working on two other stories, both of which are Drarry. This may become a Drarry too, not sure how the plot will develop, though. Continue reviewing! I've already got 76 reviews, I love you guys too much! Each one of you deserves a hug! **

_"Going somewhere, Potter?"_

Harry gulped and opened his eyes, looking at the man holding his shoulders. Not surprised, but still disappointed, it was Snape. The man's eyes were seeping anger, his hands gripping Harry's shoulders all-too firmly, probably firm enough to give Harry a bruise.

"Mr. Potter, you bumbling idiot of a child, do you find me stupid?" Snape asked slowly, not taking his eyes of Harry. Harry looked away.He would not give Snape the privilege of seeing Lily's eyes.

"Potter!" Snape growled, giving the boy a firm yet gentle shake. Harry didn't bother to look back_, _he just rose an eyebrow and became very interested with the rug under his feet.

"Yes, sir?" asked Harry.

"I asked you a question, Mr. Potter. Do you find me to be stupid?" replied Snape. Harry thought for a second, then shrugged.

"Well, I don't know, Professor. You only managed a heat jinx over the door? I expected something much more...interesting," said Harry as calmly as he could. The fingers on his shoulders tightened to the point of pain.

"You will not speak to me in such a manor as long as you stay at my house!" Snape all but yelled. Harry finally drew his eyes up to meet Snape's, and merely shrugged again, trying to keep his face emotionless.

"You can't take points away from me," taunted Harry. Snape twisted his jaw, thinking to tell Harry of some of the more cruel punishment he had thought up, but instead ventured the conversation a different way.

"Potter, do you honestly believe that my room does not have enchantments placed over it? To alert me if someone breaks in? Of course, they are easy to overpower, only very weak wizards cannot figure out how," sneered Snape. Harry felt his hands clench into fists.

"I am not weak!" he shouted back. Snape released him and gave him a shove out of his room. Harry stumbled back into the room, but Snape held a hand out and stopped him.

"As I said, even a first year would know how to disarm the charms. Piss off, Potter, I have no urge to deal with you. I'll establish a punishment for breaking into my room later," sighed Snape. But Harry did not let him. He dove for a more touchy subject.

"Who the hell's in that photo frame, then, Professor?" Harry asked, his voice borderline on shouting. He pointed his wand to the frame, and within seconds, Snape had grasped the frame and shoved it under a pillow.

"DO NOT POINT YOUR WAND AT MY THINGS!" he bellowed. Harry tightened his grip on the wand, jabbing it towards the window. The curtains blew open and a pane of glass cracked. He smirked and looked at Snape, feeling accomplished. Snape stood emotionless, leaning against the headboard of his bed.

"I know that was my mother, Professor. And I know that was you. Why was she...hugging on you?" asked Harry quickly, his face morphing into a look of disgust. Snape reflected the look.

"To whom is in my personal picture is none of your business! A snoop, and a lousy one at that, just like your-," Snape suddenly cut off, his voice hitching in his throat. He caught a glimpse of Harry's eyes...Lily's eyes. His voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper as he said, "Father. Just like your father."

The tension in the room escalated quickly as both the men stood quietly, staring at each other. Harry couldn't think of much of a rebound, and Snape was lost in his thoughts of Lily, and how to break the news to her son. _My son. _

"Potter, I think we...we should talk. Have a seat in the kitchen. I'll prepare some tea," mumbled Snape, giving Harry a light shove out the door. Harry did not move, though. He crossed his arms over his chest, and gave a child-like stomp with one foot.

"No. You aren't going to try to slip something in my tea or lull me over with food. We can talk here. It's perfectly suitable," argued Harry. Snape rose his eyebrow and pointed towards the door with one long finger.

"You will do as I say and you will address me as 'sir'. Go to the kitchen," said Snape as calmly as he could. Harry rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, marching towards in the kitchen, pouting and mumbling under his breath the entire way. He eventually slammed his body into a chair and focused his eyes on the table.

Snape grabbed the photo off his nightstand, and quickly reached inside his nightstand to snatch the letter. Both in hand, he set off towards the kitchen and lied the items on the counter. He saw Harry's eyes flicker towards them, but quickly look away, focusing on the table once more.

"So, Potter, what gave you the inspiration to break into my room while I was out of the house? Already bored? Couldn't find anything to amuse your pea-sized brain?" Snape asked casually as ever, pouring cool water into a tea kettle. Harry frowned and clenched his fists.

"N-no, sir, no," said Harry, "I just...when you gave me a tour of the house the other day, we walked past your room and I saw the photograph, and I was curious..." Snape nodded slowly, turning up the heat on the stove and then flicking his wand at the kettle. It was instantly smoking.

"And you did not think to simply...ask?" inquired Snape. Harry snorted loudly and looked up, meeting Snape's eyes.

"And, Professor, would you have given me an answer?" retorted Harry. Snape opened his mouth as to insult Harry or give a smart remark, but he instead closed his mouth in defeat.

The kettle was suddenly screaming quite loudly. Snape turned sharply, flicked his wand at the kettle, and it immediately levitated off the stove. It moved it's way towards two small tea cups on the table and poured equal amounts of steaming, hot, black tea. The scent filled the air and Harry inhaled deeply before greedily reaching across the table and snatching a cup of tea.

Snape summoned the kettle back towards the stove, which he turned off, and then took a seat across from Harry, not touching the tea in front of him. He watched as Harry took a quick sip, and then proceeded to spit it across the table and onto the floor.

"Hot! Hot!" shouted Harry, waving his hand at his tongue rapidly. Snape groaned loudly and flicked his wand at the spilled tea, then waved it once at Harry's mouth. Harry sighed softly and looked at Snape, mumbling something along the lines of, "Sorry,".

"You always take small sips and let it cool, boy. Have you not been taught this?" Snape asked with a certain amount of annoyance in his voice, stuffing his wand inside his inner-cloak pocket. Harry wrapped his hands around the cup of tea firmly, taking a much smaller sip this time. He took his time swallowing.

"The Dursley's didn't really teach me many manners, or much of anything, Professor. I'm a damn good cleaner and cook, that's for sure, but that's about it," said Harry softly. Snape suddenly felt an urge to punch himself. _Of course he knows no manners, he was raised worse than a pet rat. _

"We will have to work at that," Snape said. Harry gave a short nod and the room went quiet for several minutes before Snape remembered what they were there for. He cleared his throat. Harry looked up from his near-empty tea cup. The men looked at each other for some time while Snape tried to formulate his words.

"Lily...your mother, that is...Lily and I...we...we had a...complicated relationship, to say the least. Yes, Potter, that is her," said Snape. He lifted his hand and waved it gently at the photograph. It glided towards them and eventually hit the table between the two men. Snape tapped the place where Lily stood gently.

"To keep it on a simple 'need-to-know' basis, yes, we were...involved. Together, if you must," choked Snape. Harry's eyes watched Snape as he twirled a finger around in his tea.

"For how long?" Harry asked quietly after a long silence. Snape inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair.

"Need to know basis, Potter," Snape replied. Harry gave Snape a look of surprise.

"She is my mother, who was killed by the Dark Lord. Any information could be of use. I need to know."

Snape didn't lean forward for quite some time, contemplating if he was going to tell Harry the truth or not. He finally sat forward, both elbows on the table, staring deep into Harry's green eyes. _Lily would be proud of you. _Snape snorted at the thought. _Proud? Of me? Never. Lily would be ashamed. Lily would laugh at you. "Still teaching at that school, I see? No friends? Haven't moved on past my death?" She would laugh at you and your misery..._

"Professor? I just want the truth." Snape blinked twice, snapping out of his thoughts. He sat up straight and cleared his throat unnecessarily once more.

"The truth."

"Yes, sir."

Snape crossed his fingers high above his elbows on the table and rested his chin upon them. He stared at Harry for a brief moment, took a sip of his lukewarm tea, and brushed some hair out of his face.

"I'm going to tell you a story, Potter. Do not interrupt me with questions. Do not storm out if you become frustrated. Do not yell at me. Listen, and try to understand, which I gather may be difficult for you," Snape said, adding the last sentence for fear of sounding too...gentle. Harry gritted his teeth.

"Yes, sir," said Harry. Snape nodded, and began.

"Your mother, Lily, and I, we become...together, in fifth year. I was not her first pick, I suppose, but James Potter was continuously pestering her about dates. She needed a better reason besides 'having plans' or 'other commitments', so she asked me if I would sacrifice some time to pose as a fake-boyfriend. I was close friends with your mother," Harry rose an eyebrow and nodded a few times, visibly surprised thus far.

"Yes, we were close friends. Anyways, the faking worked for quite sometime, but, as usually happens in relationships, feelings began to develop," Snape said quickly. He did not want to reveal to Potter his obsession over Lily Evans since they were young children, it was far too soon to release that much information about his life.

"Luckily, feelings developed on both sides, and we got together. We married as soon as we got out of Hogwarts, a small wedding on a hillside, she was wearing a long white dress and..." Snape only stopped when Harry put up a hand in protest, his face completely twisted and looking quite green.

"Please avoid losing your lunch because of my previous relationships, Potter. Anyways, we were married for quite some time. We were happy together. Unfortunately, there was a problem, and we decided to separate. The end." Snape shrugged, but Harry did not seem to understand. His face displayed shock, disgust, and confusion.

"What happened?" Harry asked quietly.

"Our relationship problems are none of your business. I see not a therapy license. And, either way, it's over and behind us. None of it can be fixed," said Snape. Harry could hear a prominent tone of sadness and regret in his voice, and for a second, he actually pitied the man.

There was an awkward tension in the air. Snape opened his mouth a few times, but then went quiet and continued stirring his tea around with his finger. Harry sat silently, tapping his fingers on the table and focusing on a few scratches in the dark wood. After several minutes, Harry stood up and stretched his back.

"Unless there is anything else you are going to tell me, sir, may I be dismissed?" Harry asked, stretching out his arms and taking a step backwards out of the kitchen. Snape stood up.

"I do not believe I have enforced a punishment, yet. And yes, there is something else. You deserve to know what all happened...everything. Please sit." Harry shrugged and sat down once more. Snape took his seat and sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose firmly.

"Your mother and I were together for several years before she reconciled with James-"

"James? My dad?" Snape flashed Harry a look which silenced him immediately.

"James Potter, correct. James and I were never, let's say, the closest of friends. We never quite got along. As you can predict, I was not the happiest camper when Lily and James became very close friends. I would often wake up to find James already in my house, or Lily would have left to spend time with him," said Snape. Harry nodded, his mouth open slightly.

"They were just friends, at the time?" Harry asked. Snape briefly nodded before continuing on with his story.

"At the time, yes. To summarize up a very long and personal story, your mother and I got into a fight, and...I said some things I shouldn't have," said Snape very quietly. He dragged his eyes away from Harry and focused on the now-cold cup of tea in front of him. Harry caught only the slightest hint of pink in his cheeks.

"What happened?" asked Harry. Snape bit his lip to keep from lashing out. He very clearly remembered the evening that he had come home to find James and Lily sitting at his kitchen table, the one they sat at now, both staring at him, asking for him to 'take a seat'.

"Your mother knew of my prior connections to the Dark Lord. She no longer felt safe, living with me, now that the war had begun. She suggested a temporary divorce, in which she would marry James and hide away until the war had passed over. It was a brilliant idea, at the time," admitted Snape, for the first time. He shifted in his seat, looking up at Harry. _Lily had sat in the same place that night._

"Exactly two weeks later, she had finalized the divorced, processed the new marriage, packed, and left. She didn't tell me where they went, but they left. About one and a half months later I got my first letter from her. She-" Snape stopped instantly. He had carried the story much too far. Potter rose an eyebrow and smirked.

"You can't start a story and not finish it, sir." Snape sighed, tearing his eyes off Harry and back down to the table. He remembered the letter vividly, as it was stored in his nightstand drawer, along with every other letter or piece of Lily he had kept.

"She was pregnant. With you." Harry moved back from the table slightly. _Lily cheated on him? _

"I automatically assumed she had...well, cheated, for lack of a better term," said Snape awkwardly. He wasn't used to having deep conversations, much less with a boy of Harry's age. His conversations with Draco usually consisted of Potions and other school lessons.

"Is that why you never liked me?" asked Harry suddenly, the smallest hint of anger boiling somewhere deep in his voice. Snape put a hand up, signaling him to stay quiet and keep calm. Harry settled back in his seat, folding his arms across his chest.

"No. May I finish this story, or will you continue to interrupt me?" Harry didn't move or speak. Snape put his hand down.

"Fine. Your mother was always an honest person, and she honestly told me that there were a few...romantic instances with James," said Snape, frowning slightly and looking at Harry. Harry quickly understood what he meant and nodded for him to continue.

"Your mother and I lost touch very quickly afterwords. She had moved on, I assumed.. She sent me mail when she gave birth, and of course, I received a letter when she passed. I also received a letter yesterday evening." Harry frowned slightly, but nodded once again. Snape pinched the bridge of his nose.

"It was a letter your mother had composed to me several weeks before her death. It was concerning you," Harry perked up at the mention of himself.

"May I see it, sir?" he asked instantly, voice filled with worry and excitement. Harry did not have many memories of his mother, just a few pictures and tales passed down from other Professors about her.

Snape shook his head. "Eventually, perhaps, Potter," he said, "but for now, I think simply telling you the main point of the letter is needed." Harry shrugged and nodded once more, growing slightly impatient.

"Your mother was...a beautiful woman. _Always_ honest. Always with good intentions. She had your best intentions in mind, behind this. Please remember that as I tell you what the letter said," Snape said, almost begging. He did not need Potter screaming at him, or going hostile.

"Fine. What did it say?"

"Quite simply, James was not your father," whispered Snape. Harry's eyes widened, though he did not quite understand. _Lily cheated twice? With another man?_

"You're lying. My mother would not cheat twice. You're just doing this to piss me off!" Harry nearly shouted, rising from the table. Snape did the same, taking a step towards Harry.

"I'm telling the honest truth. In fact, Potter, if you must, I can take a small dosage of veritaserum, if it comforts you," hissed Snape.

"I don't care. My mother would not cheat twice. She...she wasn't like that!" said Harry, his voice only slightly calmer. Snape sighed and closed his eyes.

"Your mother did not cheat twice," he said very quietly, never opening his eyes. Harry stood still for nearly a minute, not quite understanding. _She didn't cheat twice? Then how would she have had me? Was there a spell? A potion? _

Then suddenly, similar to the hour earlier where Harry discovered the picture frame, everything clicked in one small instant.

"Harry?" Snape said, raising an eyebrow. The boy looked quite faint and very weak. He reached out to touch his shoulder and stabilize him. Harry jumped backwards, shaking.

"Don't touch me. D-don't. Don't talk to me. D-do-" Harry turned on his heel and bolted. He ran down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door, not bothering to grab shoes. He just ran.

**A/N: More coming soon! Review, review, review! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**The Struggle: Chapter 7**

**A/N: Oh my goodness! 92 reviews! I am SO grateful! Thank you all so very much! Sorry if these chapters start taking longer, I am now back to school, so I have classes and homework and what not. I hope you guys still enjoy this and keep up the reviews. I love you all! Also, this chapter is a little more controversial. It _touches _on suicide and self harm. And there isn't much Snape in this chapter. Next chapter there will be! Bare with me though!**

_"Don't touch me. D-don't. Don't talk to me. D-do-" Harry turned on his heel and bolted. He ran down the hall, through the living room, and out the front door, not bothering to grab shoes. He just ran._

A warm breeze slapped Harry across the face as he bolted out the door and down the porch steps. He ran down the length of the walkway, sprinted diagonally across the yard, and took off down the nearly empty street.

Harry ran until he reached an intersection, which was quite busy with cars. For the smallest second, he thought only of bolting straight into the center, letting the metal machines collide against him, and then falling through a silent darkness he often recognized after severe beatings at the Dursleys. But this time, maybe the darkness wouldn't go away.

_Selfish. Think of all the others you would injure. The people driving. Children in cars. There are better ways to off yourself,_ Harry thought. The idea of suicide suddenly seemed very bright in his head. He had contemplated it before, but at this exact moment, it seemed like the best option.

_Why would you even think about that?_ A small voice whispered in the back of his head. Harry cringed as he approached the edge of the sidewalk, waiting for the cars to spread so he could cross safely. _What do I have left? My father is Severus Snape, who obviously does not care about me. My only other living relative is Sirius Black, a mass murderer on the run. Dumbledore has not cared to speak with me except at the hospital, and none of my friends have even bothered to stay in contact since I left the Dursleys. _

Harry made a mad dash across the street. He could barely see where he was going through blurry eyes, but managed to spot a gate at the entrance of a park about a quarter mile down the road. Looking behind his shoulder, he was unsurprised to see no one was coming after him. _Snape probably doesn't care that you are gone. One less worry on his mind. _Harry inhaled sharply and strolled down the street at a less-than-leisurely pace.

_Suicide is selfish. You could endanger the lives of others. _Harry snorted at the thought, looking at his feet. It would be easy just to end it all. He knew the swings in most parks usually had a few sharp, rusty metal chains hanging loosely around the bottom. Harry knew a few charms to weaken the metal so it would become disconnected, and then a few more to sharpen the corners on the chains.

Harry had nearly attempted suicide once before, after a particularly rough bashing of verbal and sexual abuse. He had stumbled down to the park around seven in the evening, covered in blood and other bodily fluids, when the sun was setting quietly in the far horizon. He had only gotten as far as gently pressing the sharpened metal against his inner wrist before chickening out. This time, though, he felt something new in the pit of his stomach. Courage. When there was really nothing to live for, you had nothing to lose.

Harry gripped the warm metal gate and pulled open, gazing into the park. It was mostly grassy fields and an old baseball diamond. On the left was a metal slide, and beside that was a swing set, if you could call it that. The swings were low to the ground, and there were only two of them. On the other side of the playground was an old wooden gazebo hidden behind a couple trees. It was painted egg shell white, but most of the paint Harry could see was chipped off. The entire park was empty.

Before he could back out, Harry walked straight towards the swing set, head held high and shoulders pushed back. He approached the first swing, the one lowest to the ground, and sat cross-legged in front of it. Withdrawing his wand from his back pocket, he pointed it at one of the looser chains with a shaking hand. He thought for several seconds about a spell that would disconnect the chain. _"Relashio," _he said thoughtfully, tapping the chain. It immediately broke off, along with several others. They fell and hit Harry on the head, but he didn't really mind.

Harry grabbed a loose chain from the mulch below the swing and set it in his left hand, focusing on it intently. "_Engorgio," _he murmured softly, tapping the loose chain with the side of his wand. It nearly doubled in size, making it much easier to focus on.

"_Exacueris."_ Harry watched as the side of chain suddenly became sharper than a razor blade. He ran his thumb over it curiously. It created a thin, long line down length of his finger, which gently oozed blood. Last time Harry had attempted to sharpen a chain, he had used another spell, which merely made it rough and jagged. This, though, was perfectly smooth and impeccably sharp. Harry was actually somewhat proud of his work.

Tucking his wand in his back pocket, he took the chain with his right hand and positioned it against his inner wrist. _What the hell are you doing? Are things really so bad that you feel you need to take your own life? End it all? _Harry gritted his teeth and tried to push the thoughts away, but they came back, louder. _Things could be worse! Are you really going to show the world that you are that weak, that you ended your life while those around you are trying to save it?_

"No one is trying to save me," he suddenly said aloud, voice quivering with anger. Harry quickly realized how the situation looked. A near fourteen year old, trying to kill himself with a chain by a swing set. He needed to go somewhere more private, quiet, hidden. _The gazebo. _

Harry stood up and hunched over, keeping his eyes focused on his feet as he dragged his body to the gazebo. In his right hand he held the sharp chain, making a fist firmly. He could feel the sharp side pierce the skin, and by the time he reached the gazebo, after wrestling his way through tree branches and poison ivy bushes, his hand was dripping scarlet red blood down his jeans.

Harry managed to make it to the far right of the gazebo, most easily concealed by the trees, before collapsing against the wall and crying softly. _No one is coming after me. No one is going to stop me. No one cares. My own fucking dad doesn't care. He hates me and would rather I die. _Harry formed a tighter fist and yelped at the pain. He opened his bloody hand and the chain hit the ground beside him.

Harry looked through his blurred vision at his hand. Across the width of his palm was a thick, deep cut, spilling blood across his entire hand. The blood dripped down his arm and onto his jeans, but he didn't really care much. He was entirely dirty at this point, his arms red and scratched from the trees branches, feet likely blistered from running in only socks, and hair standing up in every direction.

The familiar voice started up again in his head, scolding him. _You are pathetic, you know that? _Harry frowned and grabbed the chain again, quickly pressing it against his left wrist, but doing no more. _Are you really in such a situation that you find your only escape from reality would be to end it all? Do you not think of those around you, those who care? Who will discover your body? Will they still call you a brave hero? A brave Gryffindor, taking his own life because of unfortunate fate? Will anyone remember you as the strong, confident, fierce Boy-Who-Lived, or will you be remembered as the sad excuse of a boy who was scared of life itself? A small, weak-_

"I-am-not-weak!" Harry shouted, pressing the bladed edge harder into his wrist. It made a teeny nick, but not nearly enough to bleed. He pressed harder, and harder, and dragged the blade. It merely grazed his skin, scraping the surface. He cried out in fury, slamming his wrist on the cold wood floor and pressing the corner of the blade against his skin as hard as he could. No matter how hard he tried, the blade would only cut deep enough to let loose a few drops of blood.

"You are weak, though," a male's voice suddenly came from near him. Harry didn't bother looking up, he knew it would be Snape, ready to reprimand him for his actions, call him useless and close-minded and selfish and weak, weak, weak. Harry threw the blade across the gazebo. It landed with a loud bang directly across from him.

"A change of mind, then?" Harry frowned. The voice was much too light to be Snape's. It spoke quickly and eagerly, as though actually expecting a worded response. Harry learned quickly that most of the time when Snape spoke, it was best to reply with 'Yes, sir,' or 'No, sir,'. Harry still didn't dare to look up as he felt his cheeks flush red. Someone else had found him in the midst of attempting suicide. It was not a lovely scenario.

He heard footsteps approaching him slowly. Looking down at the ground, he noticed the black trainers. They looked as though they were brand new, with paper-white laces and bright red tips. Above the shoes were very scrawny, pale legs.

"Malfoy," Harry sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest. He rested his forehead against the tops of his knees, trying to disguise the tears flowing freely and bright red cheeks. Of all people who could find him, it was Malfoy. He wanted to turn around, stand up, and punch him. At the same time, though, he felt a form of gratitude towards him.

"I arrived at Snape's for the weekend several minutes ago. He sent me to find you, and hinted that you might flee to this dingy park," said Malfoy. Without looking up, Harry knew he was probably looking around, sneering at the lack of cleanliness in the gazebo. Harry remained silent, tears gently soaking the outside of his jeans. He could still feel blood leaking from the palm of his hand, and several wounds on his arms from the trees seemed to have broken open as well.

Harry heard something hit the ground beside him, and he suddenly felt a presence. He lifted his head to see Draco next to him, legs spread out, arms folded across his chest. He was watching Harry curiously, lips pursed in disapproval.

"What the fuck do you want, Malfoy?" hissed Harry, while trying to wipe tears of his face nonchalantly with his sleeve. Malfoy rose an eyebrow.

"I don't want anything, Potter. Trust me, I'd rather be back at Snape's Manor, drinking tea and reading a book. But he sent me here. And it was my job to find you, clean you up, and take you back. Give me your damn hand!" shouted Draco suddenly, as he finally noticed Harry's red, dripping hand. Without bothering to fight, Harry shoved his hand out.

Draco was instantly holding Harry's hand atop his own. Harry flinched backwards, trying to move away from Draco, but Draco held his hand firmly in place. He withdrew his wand from his pocket and rested the tip of it in the center of the deep cut. "_Episky," _he whispered. Harry felt a sudden fire light his hand, but it was quickly dulled by an ice cold freezing sensation.

Draco dropped his hand and worked his way around Harry. Before he could protest, Draco was sitting on Harry's lap, facing him, legs on either side of Harry's hips.

"The _fuck_, Malfoy?" Harry screamed, pushing him backwards before Draco could find a comfortable position. Draco caught himself with his left hand, his right holding a wand out towards Harry. Draco positioned himself back on Harry's lap and looked at him with pitying eyes.

"Potter, will you just relax for a minute? I'm only trying to help you, honestly," Draco murmured, coming close to Harry's face as he moved his wand around, repeating "_Episky," _at each open wound across Harry's arms, face, and neck. The closeness was too much for Harry. He shifted backwards and threw his head back, trying to lean away from Draco. At the same time, though, it felt oddly comforting. Someone was trying to heal him in a human-like way, not just with Potions every three hours or magical healing salve.

Draco continued poking Harry with the tip of his wand for several minutes until he was nearly entirely healed, except for a few minor scratches along his hairline, and the small cut which had now scabbed over on his left wrist. Draco ignored that.

After a couple more pokes and spells, Draco slumped his shoulders and put his wand in his pocket, but did not remove himself from Harry's lap. He eyed the boy up and down curiously, and finally let out a deep sigh, his voice quivering a little. Harry frowned.

"I-I thought you'd be dead by the time I got here, you idiot. Severus said you might try something like this. He told me to run and find you. I did, I ran, I ran," whispered Draco, staring Harry deep in the eyes. Harry didn't change his face, simply stared at Draco somewhat wide eyed, still frowning.

"Thank you," Harry finally replied quietly after a long, uncomfortable pause. Draco had still not shifted from his lap. Harry gave him a little shove and he tumbled off, sitting on the floor beside him.

"Why?"

"Because you...well, you know...you just saved my life, I guess...," Harry said, blushing furiously. His arch enemy had just saved his life, which meant Malfoy would probably expect him to be forever in debt to him. Not to mention the embarrassment he would receive from Malfoy and the entire Slytherin house for years to come.

"No," said Malfoy, "Well, yes, I did save your life, you bloody idiot. But...why did you even try to end it? You have everything." Harry snorted and rolled his head back, resting against the ledge where the wood of the gazebo became an open window.

"I have nothing," said Harry, laughing, but not in humor.

"Liar. Snape told me about, well, what happened. Briefly, before he sent me off to find you."

"So you understand why I did it, tried to end it, then?"

"Because you are a stupid, ignorant git. That's why."

Harry lunged upwards, standing over Draco, and whipped his wand out from his back pocket. He pointed it at Draco, who was still sitting on the ground, fumbling with his watch calmly.

"You don't get it, do you, Malfoy? You've got a mom and a dad who LOVE you!" Harry all but shouted. Draco suddenly pulled his eyes away from his watch and stood up, standing eye to eye with Harry, just inches from him.

"That's funny, Potter, that you suddenly know everything about me," he growled, taking another step towards Harry, who flinched back. "That you automatically assume that I don't understand abuse, or that...that my parents feel for me any more than a pet," Draco spat the last word, glaring at Harry, panting slightly. The conversation had hit a weak point for both of the boys.

"Oh, fuck it, Draco! Don't try to pull that 'I-get-abused-at-home-just-like-you' so you can try to be equal with me again! You don't understand! And until you do, you won't know why I tried to kill myself! You don't, fucking, get, it!" Before Harry could continue, Draco was pulling his short sleeved red shirt over his head. Harry stepped back and frowned.

"The fuck do you think you are doing?" he said, making a look of disgust at boy stripping in front of him. Draco threw his shirt across the gazebo, somewhere near the bloody chain link, and put his hands on his hips, thrusting his pale chest outwards suddenly.

"I don't understand, do I?" hissed Draco. Harry drew his eyes to Draco's thin, scrawny torso, and lost his breath, and nearly lost any food he had in his stomach.

Draco's entire torso was covered in various sized bruises and cuts, some deep, some not. He looked quite similar to how Harry had often looked after beatings at the Dursleys, though not quite as bad. It was obvious that the bruises were made by the bare hand, they looked about the size of fists, some of the larger ones possibly made by kicks.

"I understand better than anyone, Potter. What I don't understand is why you tried to kill yourself. You _do _have everything. You got away from the abuse. You managed to escape it. Me? I put up with it every damn day," breathed Draco, pointing to a few bruises and outlining a few cuts. Draco continued talking, his voice increasingly shaky.

"Why do you think I visit Severus so often? I probably wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him, you know," whispered Draco, closing his eyes, "He saved me so many times. And I've begged to live with him, just to get away from my father. Anything to get away from that sick, disgusting, vile man. But I can't. It's not safe." Draco opened his eyes and stared at Harry, who's mouth was slightly ajar.

"You escaped, Potter. You got away from it. You are a winner, a survivor. And I'm still the victim. And as much as I pity you, for the terrible things that have happened and the way you've dealt with it, I envy you nearly as much." Draco's voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

Harry stepped back slightly, observing Draco. His cheeks had turned bright red, his face was becoming slightly splotchy, and his breathing was laboured. His eyes were...dead. There wasn't the usual amount of hatred and smugness in them. They just looked dead. Draco had deep purple bags under his eyes, from what looked like a complete lack of sleep. And in that moment, Harry began to pity Draco, for the first time in his life. The boy he thought had everything, who actually had nothing.

"I-I...," Harry started to speak, trying to formulate words, but Draco just put up a hand. He walked across the gazebo, grabbed his shirt, and pulled it on slowly. After adjusting the hem so it was perfectly parallel to his khaki shorts, he looked up at Harry.

"Can we just go back to Snape's, and not speak of this?" he asked, nearly begging. Harry bit his lip and walked towards Draco until he was standing as close to him as he possibly could. Draco shifted away slightly, but Harry followed his movement.

"Yes, and no. I'm so sorry, Draco, I'm so sorry," whispered Harry sadly, averting his eyes from Draco. He suddenly felt very foolish, embarrassed, and guilty. At least when Harry was abused, he felt no emotion from it. It was his aunt and uncle, who always hated him, not his own parents, who were supposed to love and protect you, no matter what.

Awkwardly, Harry reached around Draco with one arm and patted his back in a type of half-hug, trying to comfort the boy who was nearly in tears in front of him. Draco did the same, except he pulled Harry slightly closer and rested his forehead on his shoulder, sighing as his bleach blonde hair spilled across Harry's chest. Harry frowned at the curious display of affection Malfoy was showing.

"Don't go queer on me, Malfoy," warned Harry carefully, smirking slightly as he felt Draco laugh against his shoulder, then smack his upper back playfully.

"Please, Potter, don't flatter yourself," replied Malfoy lightly, in spite of Harry actually insulting Malfoy's precious sexuality, which he had been defending for years. It was quite easy to mistake the boy as homosexual. He spent nearly an hour styling his hair, had more female friends than male, and often times had been caught stealing glances at other boys in class. Harry moved his arm as to release Malfoy, but felt an uncomfortable tightening grip on his back.

"No."

"We need to go back to Snape."

"No. Please. I haven't been...properly hugged...in years. Don't." Harry felt Malfoy's other arm tangle around his mid chest. Harry sighed and shifted his other arm around Malfoy, somewhere between his mid chest and lower stomach. The hug was already odd enough, and he didn't want to increase the awkwardness by trying to wrap an arm around Draco's neck, or lower waist.

"Thank you," sighed Malfoy, resting his head back on Harry's shoulder, who flinched slightly. There was something about having Draco this close to him that made him feel...content. Happy, almost. It was uncomfortable and strange and awkward and he didn't like it, but it felt good. It felt right.

"Err, we really do need to get back to Snape's, don't we? He might get worried or something," suggested Harry, suddenly becoming very warm and uncomfortable. Something inside him was tingling in an odd way, and he wasn't sure how to react to it. Malfoy let his arms fall off Harry, who did the same, and then stepped back, scratching his neck awkwardly.

"I suppose we should," he agreed, re-adjusting his shirt and taking the lead as he walked out of the gazebo. Harry followed a few steps behind, observing the boy in front of him. He had grown over the summer, and was much taller and leaner. A little too thin, actually, but Harry didn't need to guess as to why. The boy's hair was longer, yet still gelled back and tidy, out of his face, much unlike Harry's.

Harry suddenly felt a hand brush his own. He snapped out of his thoughts to see that Draco had slowed and was now walking at the same pace as Harry. He felt the hand brush his own once more and looked down. The back of Draco's hand was oddly close to Harry's.

"Uh, do you...mind?" Draco stuttered suddenly, stopping in his path. Harry frowned, not understanding, and tilted his head slightly. Sighing, Draco bumped his hand against Harry's again. "I don't know, sorry, we don't have to...I just...I don't want you to try and run off or anything," Draco said, his voice suddenly just as snooty as it was last year. Harry shrugged and laced his fingers around Draco's and began walking again.

"No funny business, Potter. I'm just holding your damn hand so you don't run. We get back to Severus's, and we are enemies, correct?"

"Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say," Harry said with a smirk and squeezed Draco's hand lightly.

**A/N: Ok guys, I know this chapter was just about Harry and Draco, but next Chapter will dig a little deeper into the relationship between Harry and Snape, and Snape and Lily. A few different plot lines for you! Hope you enjoyed, please review. Oh, and also, I do not know if this will have smut or not. Most likely not, unless some reviewers convince me otherwise ;)**


	8. Chapter 8

**The Struggle: Chapter 8**

**I CANNOT thank you all enough for the reviews! Seriously, every reviewer, thank you so much! Infinite cookies from me to you! As long as you guys keep reviewing, I'll keep posting updates as quickly as I can. Please let me know how the quality of writing is. I don't want to be boring you all or anything. Thanks! ENJOY & REVIEW!**

_"Sure, Malfoy, whatever you say," Harry said with a smirk and squeezed Draco's hand lightly._

Harry and Malfoy kept up friendly small talk on the casual walk home. They carefully avoided the subject of abuse, what had just happened in the gazebo, all the people staring at two teenagers holding hands, and school. Harry tried to teach Malfoy the basic rules of football, but he didn't understand and found it deadly boring.

"All you do is kick a ball around a field? And try to score goals? That's it?" Malfoy asked, swinging his and Harry's hand back and forth lightly as they made their way down a shaded side walk, past a woman who was pursing her lips and pretending not to notice the two teenagers holding hands.

"Well, I suppose that's just the gist of it, yes," replied Harry, flexing his fingers and then lacing them back between Draco's, who didn't seem to notice.

"And the Muggles call that a sport? Just kicking a ball around aimlessly?"

"Er, yes, but there really is more-"

"Please, Potter, I'll just stick to Quidditch."

When the corner of Snape's house was visible, both boys immediately released hands, jerking their arms away and creating a safe distance. Malfoy made quite a spectacle of wiping his hand on his shorts and murmuring something about 'Gryffindor filth'. Harry pretended not to notice.

"Enemies, yes?" confirmed Malfoy as they approached the front lawn. Harry stared at the vast size of the house, swallowing hard. He knew Snape would be waiting just inside the front door, ready to lecture Harry. And Harry also knew that every word that came from Snape's mouth would most likely be harsh, yet true. Although he didn't want to accept it, Snape was now his father and his guardian until the end of the summer. Harry turned his head slightly, looking behind him. It would be easy to run again. Malfoy would have a harder time catching up, he wasn't as fit as Harry. But, at the same time, Harry knew he would have to talk eventually. Suicide and running away were both cowardly, and his Gryffindor pride had already faltered. Harry's mind raced, there were so many options, none of which seemed fitting.

"Potter?" Harry snapped his head around, meeting Malfoy's dead, gray eyes. He cleared his throat.

"Right, yes, enemies. Of course. Enemies."

"Good."

"Fantastic"

"Yeah."

"Uh huh."

"Well then go on," said Malfoy loudly, clearing his throat. He pushed Harry's shoulder and nearly sent the boy tumbling to the ground. He regained his balance and focused his eyes on the front door on the mansion.

"Go!" Malfoy snapped, pushing Harry again. He took several more steps forward before picking up a steady pace, not too rushed or too hesitant, towards the house. Before he could reach the front door, it was pulled open. Snape stood inside, looking quite shaken and startled, white as a sheet, as though he had seen a ghost.

"Malfoy," Snape said quietly to the boy who was now only a couple steps behind Harry, "Potter, come." Harry went to take a step forward, but Snape had already grabbed his collar and was dragging him down the main hall. Harry's feet stumbled along the ground, turning corners and eventually reaching a wooden staircase.

"Up."

"But, Sir, you said I was not-"

"And you've already broken almost every other rule I've said. Up."

Harry obliged and climbed the stairs, two at a time due to the fact that Snape was directly on his heels. Once he reached the top, a cold, rough hand grabbed the back of his neck and directed him to the left.

"Ouch!" whispered Harry as the hand tightened, pushing him forward down a long, winding hall. Every five or six feet there was another doorway, and Harry began to wonder how many rooms a single man living alone really needed.

"Last door at the end of the hall," murmured Snape, giving Harry a final shove down the hall. He released his neck and stood planted, arms crossed. Harry turned to look back at Snape, who rose his eyebrows questionably.

"I said, last door at the end of the hall. Go." Harry slowly turned back around, glancing down the hall. He walked about twelve feet until he was directly in front of the last door. He reached down to grab the doorknob and suddenly stopped. He reached back hesitantly to grab his wand.

"It's not charmed," came a voice from down the hall. Harry nodded and moved his hand back to the doorknob, gripping it firmly and turning it. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The room reminded him very much of Snape's room. It was, of course, decorated with different shades of reds and golds. It was comfortably warm and had a deep, yet not overwhelming, scent of flowers. Harry inhaled deeply, letting his body become drunk off of the lovely scent. The layout of the room was similar to Snape's, a perfectly made king sized bed beside a wooden nightstand, several dressers, a window, with the same white, blooming flowers, and a large book shelve.

Harry was unsure what he was supposed to, or not supposed to, find, touch, or see. He carefully closed the door behind him and looked at the wall behind him. From left to right, top to bottom, it was nearly completely covered in picture frames and moving, dancing, muted pictures. All the frames were either a deep, blood red or a sparkling gold of various sizes. Harry began observing them at the far left.

The first one he drew his eyes to was in a small, gold frame. He instantly spotted a young girl, perhaps the age of eleven or twelve, crouched low behind a tree. She had long, frizzy red hair and prominent green eyes. Beside her, unsurprisingly, was a tall, lanky boy, who looked about the same age as her, with pale skin and dirty black hair. Harry did not bother trying to deny in his mind who the children were.

The girl pointed at the camera and whispered something in young Snape's ear. He frowned slightly, but looked at the camera, smiling overly-widely. The boy and girl began laughing, stuffing their hands over each others mouths in attempt to quiet the other, but it didn't seem to do much good. Another young girl, who appeared to be a few years older than either his mother or Snape, came running from the far left of the picture. She was wearing heavy eye makeup and had her long, wavy hair draped over her left shoulder. She stopped beside the tree, pointed at the two children, still laughing and giggling, then pointed at the camera, covered her mouth, and ran the opposite direction.

"Petunia," came a voice from behind Harry, who jumped and turned in surprise. Snape was leaning against the wall on the opposite side of the room, arms crossed, smirking.

"She never understood why Lily and I were friends, and didn't particularly like it. Come." Snape walked to the wall of photographs, about half way down, and ushered Harry towards him. He pointed at a smaller photograph and Harry leaned in, squinting slightly.

He watched a scene where a slightly older Lily and Snape, probably in their mid teens, stood in what appeared to be a ballroom. They were dancing together quite awkwardly, as if neither of them knew exactly what to do, while attempting to smile at the camera.

"Our first Yule Ball as fourth years. We went together, quite a sight, a Gryffindor and Slytherin dancing together. We went as friends, of course, but none the less...," Snape murmured, walking further down the wall of pictures before finding another. He waved his hand at Harry.

The photograph viewing went on for another fifteen minutes. Harry watched scenes of the two at their first date, in which his mother proceeded to spill water down Snape's entire front, prompting a laugh from Harry. Surprisingly, Snape laughed along with him. He watched a photo in which Snape and Lily were standing in front of Hogwarts, holding hands as they carefully boarded small, wooden boats in the boathouse, while smiling and waving slightly at the camera.

"Graduation," clarified Snape.

In another picture, Snape and Lily appeared to still be in their late teens, standing on top of a hill. He watched carefully as Snape lowered himself onto one knee and pulled a small, dark blue box from his dark pocket. Harry averted his eyes awkwardly and didn't watch the rest of the picture, for he knew what happened.

"This will be the last one, I suppose," muttered Snape finally, picking a photo in a red frame on the far right side of the wall. Harry approached it, somewhat relieved. He had already seen at least twenty various photos of Snape and his mother and wasn't quite sure what the point behind it was, except that he now knew Snape kept a room devoted to his mother. Harry wasn't sure is that was supposed to be an effort to be romantic, even if his mother was dead.

"I've actually charmed this photo. It's quite long, at least a minute and a half. I'd like you to watch the entire thing, please," said Snape in a polite tone. Harry approached the photo and watched it carefully.

His mother and Snape stood under a small archway decorated with white flowers, the same as those placed in Snape's room, and the room he was currently in. His mother was wearing a long, full length white dress, strapless, yet still very classy. Her long red hair fell all the way down her back, parted down the center with near perfect curls.

Across from her, holding her hands, was Snape. He was much taller than Lily, and Harry made an effort not to laugh at the awkwardness of the couple. Snape looked very much like he did today, minus several wrinkles and a few pounds. The couple had their eyes locked and were smiling slightly, while a short, pudgy man behind them was reading out of a Bible. Harry quickly recognized it to be a Muggle wedding.

The scene progressed quickly until the man behind them closed the Bible and stepped backwards, motioning his arms out towards the couple. Harry widened his eyes as he saw a small tear progress down his mother's face as she nearly collapsed against Snape. He pulled her close and practically dragged her onto his own feet, so she was nearly level with him. With a little awkward slouching, the couple locked lips and wrapped their arms around each other. Harry tried to avert his eyes, but there was something about the photo that was intriguing.

When his mother and Snape broke the kiss, the continued holding each other for quite a long while, simply staring into each others eyes. Harry watched the photograph avidly. He could sense something...more, to it. Something the couple shared that was powerful, and far over his own head. Harry looked away as the photo faded, snapping his eyes to Snape, who was, once again, on the other side of the room.

"Your mother's idea, of course, to have a Muggle wedding," he said casually, observing his nails. "She thought that Petunia might show. She didn't." Snape sighed and put his hands down against his side.

Snape progressed to the window and picked up one of the white flowers from the vase. He brought it up to his nose, inhaled, and smiled weakly.

"Lilies," murmured Harry, suddenly remembering the type of flower.

"Correct."

"What was the purpose of bringing me in here?" Harry whispered after a long awkward silence. Snape put the flower back and walked towards Harry, who was standing with his back to the excessive wall of photographs.

"Your mother and I used to live together," began Snape, still admiring some of the photographs on the wall. "I'm surprised you didn't pick up on it quicker. Look around. Who do you think did all the decorating?"

Harry blinked several times, quickly understanding the warm Gryffindor or Victorian theme of the house.

"This was our room, of course. After she moved out, and further more, passed on," Snape's voice crackled slightly, "I never re-did the house. Everything you see is exactly how it was when Lily lived here. The walls, the furniture, flooring, everything. Not exactly my taste, but, I manage.

"This room we stand in is the only room I personally altered. I allowed Draco to change his room solely because it was an addition to the house that was undecorated when Lily moved out.

"The reason," said Snape, suddenly clearing his throat, "I brought you in here to see all this, was because I wanted to show you that your mother and I, we were not a summer fling or something petty. We were-"

"Something more," interrupted Harry, nodding his head. Snape nodded along with his, brushing his fingers over a few photographs before turning around. Harry thought he noted a slight wetness to the man's eyes, but the light could easily have been blamed as well.

"I'm sorry 'bout that...earlier," whispered Harry so quietly that Snape barely picked up on it. Harry immediately focused his gaze to his feet and began twiddling with his fingers.

"I do not want to know what happened," Snape said quickly before Harry could continue talking, "I do not care, frankly, as you are safe now. I trust that you will make wiser choices in the future when angry."

"Yeah."

"Excuse me?" Snape said irritably, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry, I mean, yes, sir."

"Harry, do you now trust that your mother and I were in love?" Harry frowned and continued studying his feet, not daring to look up.

"I—I don't know, sir."

There was a long, lingering pause in which Snape glided across the room to the book shelve and pulled out a thick red binder, similar to the ones Dudley would buy every year for his classes. Suddenly, Harry felt the binder thrust into his arms.

"Sir?" he said in surprise, nearly dropping the binder. It was at least three inches thick and wrapped in extra-large rubber bands so the papers inside would not fall out.

"I believe this may be of some interest to you, Harry. You may take it down to your room and keep it for your stay this summer, but I expect it back, am I clear?"

"Yes, sir, but...what is it?"

"Well, assuming that you have not completely tuned out all lessons at Hogwarts and you have some basic knowledge in your pea-sized brain, you can read, am I correct?" Harry nodded, feeling his cheeks turn red. "Well, then I suggest you use that skill to answer your own question."

Snape turned on his heel and walked towards the door, opening it and slipping out. Harry followed quickly after him and eventually retreated to his room without saying another word. He closed the door behind him and fell onto his bed, the red binder still clutched firmly against his chest. He was still completely confused, bewildered, and lost.

Harry laid the binder down on the bed and carefully undid the rubber bands, which were old and stiff. The binder was covered with a thick layer on dust that took quite a few swipes to get off. Carefully as he could, Harry opened the binder.

**A/N: Yes, I know this chapter was painfully boring and short, but please stick with me! More to come soon !**


	9. Update

**Update: Hey everyone, first of all, I would just like to thank you all for the reviews. Unfortunately, I will be postponing this story for awhile. I have lost interest in this story for the meantime and I am working on (hopefully) bigger and better stories. Please do not remove this from your favorites, I _may_ resume it soon, it just depends if I get an idea in my head. I can't think of a way to advance the plot correctly. If I continued writing in my current state of mind, the chapters would be boring and short. If you guys want, you can leave ideas in the reviews, which I may try to incorporate in the future. But, for the meantime, I will not be updating this story. I am so sorry, but thank you all for the reviews. I am forever grateful. **


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